DOALS Chapter II If Tomorrow Never Comes
by TracyJean
Summary: Harm crashes on his way back to Washington and has a shocking request of Mac that will change everything
1. Chapter 1

AUTHOR'S NOTE - The title for this chapter comes from the song 'If Tomorrow Never Comes', written by K. Blazy/G. Brooks, performed by Garth Brooks

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FRIDAY EVENING  
25 MAY 2001  
USS PATRICK HENRY  
APPROX. 500 MILES ESE OF NORFOLK, VIRGINIA

Harm stepped onto the bridge of the carrier and came to attention in front of Captains Ingles and Pike. "Commander Rabb reporting as ordered, Sirs," he said automatically.

"As you were, Commander," Ingles said. Harm relaxed, his hands clasped behind his back as the other man continued, "Well, you've got what you wanted, Commander. The air boss has given you clearance to take off, but it needs to be within the hour. There's a large storm moving in. Any later than that and nothing's getting off this boat, but before that, I've been assured by the weather forecasters that you will have no problem getting past the storm to Norfolk."

"Thank you, Sir," Harm replied, no emotion evident in his voice. A tiny part of him wished that take off would have been impossible with the coming weather system, wanted the excuse that he could use to avoid being home for …. what was coming in the morning. Surely it wouldn't be held against him if the weather prevented him from returning in time.

But a larger part of him quashed the idea. He prided himself on being a man of his word and even if it killed him inside, he would keep this promise for he'd rather hurt himself intentionally than do so to her. He'd hurt her far too many times unintentionally.

He mentally shook himself out of his reverie as he realized that Captain Pike was speaking. "I've given Skates permission to fly back with you," he said. "She was going on leave tomorrow morning anyway on the cod."

"I know, Sir," Harm replied. "She already spoke to me about it."

Pike held out his hand, which Harm took without hesitation. Sometimes, he wondered if he'd have had the courage to put his lifelong dream behind him and return to JAG if it hadn't been for the CAG's encouragement. "It was good to have you back, Hammer," he said, "even if it was only for a couple of days."

"Well, it was good to be back, CAG," he said sincerely. In spite of everything else, it had been good to be back in the cockpit. For just a little bit, he'd almost been able to forget the uncertain future awaiting him.

As they broke off their handshake, Ingles surprised Harm a bit by holding out his own hand. He guessed Skates' scuttlebutt had been true about the captain's reaction to his quals. Then again, scuttlebutt usually was. "It's been a privilege to fly off your boat, Skipper," he said as they shook firmly.

"It was a privilege to have you here, Commander," Ingles said. His expression was devoid of emotion as he said it, but Harm knew the man didn't offer praise lightly. He reminded him slightly of Admiral Chegwidden. "See you in six months."

"Thank you, Sir," Harm said with a nod. Under other circumstances, he might have smiled at the last comment, but he couldn't summon the strength to express such cheerfulness.

With that out of the way, Pike returned to the business they'd brought Harm to the bridge for. "How soon can you be ready to take off, Commander?" he asked.

Harm hesitated. He knew there was something he needed to do first, but did he want to? That was another matter entirely. Unfortunately, he didn't have a lot of time to buck himself up for what he had to do. "I'm already packed up," he replied slowly. "I do need to find a phone first, call someone at home."

"Let them know you're on your way?" Pike asked, not surprised by the request. It wasn't that unusual a circumstance. Most sailors called somebody before they left a ship to return to shore.

"Yes, Sir. Something like that," he answered.

Ingles interjected, "Since you're short on time, instead of trying to find a pay phone that's free, you can use the ship to shore line in Communications. I'll call down there and let them know you're coming. Dismissed."

"Aye, aye, Sir," he said smartly, coming to attention before turning on his heel and departing. Once he was off the bridge and away from watching eyes, he took a deep breath. He had approximately the minute and a half it would take him to walk down to Communications to figure out what he was going to say, to figure out how not to let the heartache he was almost sure was coming consume him. Later, after he was home safely and after he watched her pledge her life to another, maybe then he would let himself feel the overwhelming pain.

-----

Just under two minutes later, he was stepping through the hatch into the bustling communications center. At least here he would be cognizant of the eyes on him, a knowledge which would allow him to keep a tight reign on himself. The pay phones were hardly in private locations, but with his luck, he would have found one in the only empty corridor on the ship and then there would be nothing to remind him to keep himself in check.

"Commander Rabb?" a female Lieutenant Commander asked as she walked up to him. He nodded. "Commander Jackson. Captain Ingles said you'd be coming down here." She led him over to a console and motioned to the phone. "Here you go."

"Thank you, Commander," he said in dismissal, sitting down in front of the phone. She stepped away to another console, talking in a low voice to one of her people, giving Harm a small measure of privacy.

Steeling himself, he picked up the phone and placed the call. After just two rings, her warm voice came over the line. "Hello?"

For one of the few times in his life, but not for the first time with this woman, Harm found himself rendered mute. The moment was at hand, but he couldn't make his mouth form the words he'd rehearsed on the walk down to Communications. He started out the window, watching the sky darkening in the distance. The coming storm was already making its presence known, the increased wind speed evident in the choppy waters below. A flash of lightning in the distance illuminated the sky, casting an eerie glow in the blackness.

"Hello? Is anyone there?" Mac asked again, her voice slightly betraying her growing annoyance. "Hello?"

He wasn't sure how, but he finally found his voice. "Mac," he said softly, closing his eyes as another flash of electricity light up the night sky. "It's me. I just wanted to let you know that I'm taking off within the hour. I will be back in time for the wedding."

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line before she spoke again. "Speaking of the wedding, Harm," she said, "I have something to tell you."

"I, um," he began. It was time and he was convinced more than ever that he wasn't ready for this. "I didn't call to, um, pressure you. I just wanted to let you know …."

"That you're keeping your promise," she whispered. Another pause, then she added in a stronger voice, "Hang on just a minute." He thought he heard her say something to someone, but he couldn't make out her words. He blinked his eyes, staring up at the ceiling as he silently prayed that Mic wasn't there with her at that moment. He didn't want to think about them, spending the last few hours together before custom dictated that they not see each other until the wedding started.

He thought he heard a door closing on her end, and then she was back on the line. "I'm sorry about that," she apologized. "I went into the bedroom for some privacy."

"I see," he replied, sadness creeping into his voice.

"No, it's not …." she began, realizing that he assumed that Mic was present. "Chloe's here and so are Harriet and little AJ. The guys, well, they went out for – they just went out."

"Oh," he said, trying not to think about the last minute bachelor fun that the JAG men were having with Brumby. He almost smiled as he remembered another party which had ended with him, Bud and AJ in jail and his somewhat amusing – at least to Mac and only in retrospect – phone call asking for her to bail them out. He hadn't told her about AJ being with them and it had almost been worth the hassle of getting arrested to see the incredulous look on her face when she'd discovered AJ sharing the cell with them. But that had been a lifetime ago. He banished the thought and tried to focus on the conversation at hand.

She sighed heavily, wondering if the most she was going to get out of him the rest of the conversation would be one- and two-word answers. Really, she couldn't blame him if that were going to be the case, realizing that he'd probably had to force himself over the last few days not to think about her promise to him. Or maybe he was already prepared for it to be a lost cause. "Anyway," she continued nervously, "I've done a lot of thinking the last couple of days. I thought a lot about everything we've been through together and everything that's happened the last two years. Much as we'd like to, we can't just forget about that …." She rambled slightly while searching for the best way to phrase what she was trying to tell him.

"Mac, please," he whispered raggedly. Even though the nearest person was several feet from him and seemed engrossed in their work, he couldn't shake the feeling that every eye in the room was on him. He took a deep breath and forced himself to continue in a more neutral tone, "I don't have much time to talk. There's a storm coming and I have a small window of opportunity for takeoff before they starting canceling all flight activities."

It all sounded perfectly rational and logical to Mac, but she sensed from the way he suddenly shut down, letting nothing creep into his tone at all, that it wasn't his impending takeoff that was prompting him to tell her to get to the point. Suddenly, she lost her nerve and changed the subject. "You're not going to have any problems flying back because of the weather, are you?" she asked, genuinely concerned. She knew about the circumstances of his first crash and it sent a tiny shiver through her, the thought of him flying in less than ideal weather. "It's storming here in Washington and I would imagine the storm is moving in that direction."

As she said it, she looked out her bedroom window at the rain coming down even harder, hearing the rumble of thunder somewhere in the distance. She could imagine him standing near a window on the Patrick Henry – even though she knew that he might not be any place where he would have a view to the outside – watching the night sky himself. Wasn't there a song about something like that, being far apart and wishing on the same star in the sky? Only there were no stars out this night, only the bright flash of lightning and the low rumble of thunder.

"No, I was assured that if I take off within the hour, I'll avoid the path of the storm," he told her confidently. He recognized the diversionary tactic and was somewhat thankful for it. But it was time to end this. "There will be no problem flying to Norfolk. I'll pick up my car at the airfield and drive back to DC in time to catch a few hours sleep before …."

"You don't have to," she said suddenly, startling him.

"Releasing me from my promise, Colonel?" he said without a trace of humor. "How unlike you."

"No, that's not what I meant," she said softly, tears springing to her eyes as she realized that they were crossing their lines of communication again. Again, it was hardly a surprise. She idly wondered how much it had consumed him, the idea that she held his heart and his future in the palm of her hand. And now, with just over twelve hours to go before the wedding was supposed to begin, she realized that Harm really was on the verge – if he wasn't there already – of doing something she'd never known him to do before. He was about to give up hope. "I've realized that I'm in no condition to do this. How can I marry one man when I can't get another man off my mind long enough to concentrate on the wedding?"

"And?" he whispered in reply, afraid to begin hoping again, afraid to believe that this was real, afraid to believe that fate wasn't playing the cruelest of tricks on him.

"And so as soon as I can get a hold of Mic," she continued, "I'm going to tell him that I'm sorry, but that I can't marry him, that he deserves a woman who will make him the center of her universe, not one who …. Well, I probably shouldn't tell him the rest. I'm already going to be hurting him so much. He doesn't need to know, um, everything." She threw herself backwards onto her bed, her eyes brimming with tears. She brushed them away, but they kept forming, as if the cosmos were telling her that she wouldn't be getting off that easily, as if her tears were recompense for the pain she had and would inflict on Harm, on Mic, even on Renee. As for her own pain, she would just have to learn to live with it. It would be a small price to pay, not really high enough to make up for all the pain that would be inflicted on others.

Harm didn't say anything for a long moment as he processed what she'd said. She'd told him that she was going to call off the wedding, but had not said one word about what else she would do. He supposed that it might have been a bit selfish, worrying about what it would mean for him when she was in pain at the thought of breaking another man's heart. Maybe it was the best that he could hope for right now, just the fact that she was not going to get married. After all, the gossip mongers would have a field day as it was with the wedding being called off just hours before the ceremony. He didn't mind for himself, but he minded for her. The pain she would endure over the breakup of a relationship that she'd been prepared to believe would last forever would be hard enough without all the whispers behind her back, the sudden silences when she would walk into a room. "Well, whatever you think is best," he said, shaking his head.

"Harm, I – I don't know," she said, stuttering slightly. "I'm still not sure what to do at this point, not really. All I do know is that Chloe and Harriet are right. I'm not in any condition to do this right now. Honestly, I'm not sure I ever have been, even before the engagement party and …. everything else that happened after that. I need time to really think things through, something I didn't really do, even when I wore the ring on my right hand for ten months. Harm, I know that's probably not the answer that you wanted to hear …."

"Sarah," he said softly, sending shivers down her spine. She loved the way his voice caressed her name. It was probably a good thing he didn't call her 'Sarah' all the time or she might not be able to form a coherent thought in his presence. "I meant what I said about not pressuring you. I want you to do what's best for you."

"Look, I know you said you can't talk long," Mac said, sighing with relief, thankful that he seemed to understand her dilemma. "But I do want to talk to you after you get back. I'm really going to need a friend, I think. I'll understand if you want to keep your distance for the time being, but …."

"I'll always be there for you," he vowed. "I used to think that went without saying, but after everything that's happened the last two years, it's probably not so easy to believe anymore. We don't have to talk about you or me or you and Mic or anything else that you don't want to talk about. I will be there as your friend, whenever you need me."

"Maybe sometime this weekend?" she asked hopefully. "Tomorrow's going to be kind of crazy – there are lots of details to take care of and Mic's …. I know he's not going to be happy about this. He's not going to understand. By Sunday, I'll probably want to get away from it all. Anyway, I'm sure you have things you'll need to take care of as well."

"Yeah," he admitted, thinking of Renee. No matter how things ended up working out with Mac, he knew that he couldn't let that situation go on any further. It wasn't fair to her to keep her on as kind of a stand-by if things didn't work out with Mac. She already suspected that there was something more between him and Mac, so it wouldn't be a complete surprise to her. He just hoped she'd understand enough to let him go. "Well, why don't I see if I can get a fourth ticket to the Orioles came that I'm taking Chloe to on Sunday? I expect that by Sunday, we'll both need some R&R."

Mac smiled at the thought of spending the day with two of her favorite people. And he was right. By Sunday, she'd probably either be ready to have a nervous breakdown or something else equally unworthy of a Marine. "I'd like that a lot," she replied. "And Harm? We will talk – about you and me, I mean. At this point, we can't avoid it and maybe it will help me work things out in my mind."

"Whenever you're ready," he said, realizing the irony. Time was the one thing that she hadn't seemed willing to give him back in Sydney. But that didn't matter any more. Now that he had the opening, he was going to do everything he could to tell and show her how much she meant to him and how much he wanted and needed her in his life.

"Harm, I …." she began, not quite sure what else to say. She shook her head. "Never mind. Just good luck and I'll see you sometime this weekend, I guess."

"I'll see you, Sarah," he replied. He paused for a moment, then added, "If you need someone to talk to tomorrow because things are – I don't know, but you know where to find me if you need me. I'll probably be home most of the day catching up on some sleep, since I'll be spending most of the night getting back to Washington."

"Harm, why don't you just fly to Norfolk and stay the night there?" Mac suggested, worried. "You'll be landing in Norfolk around midnight, right? Do you really want to get in a car and drive three and a half hours back to DC after that? There's no reason to rush back, um, not anymore."

"Yeah, but I want to be there for you if something comes up and you need me," he pointed out. "I'll be fine. I've kept longer hours on some of our investigations."

"True," she admitted. She knew that he was going to come straight back to Washington, regardless of what she said. She chuckled softly at the thought. "Just promise that if you're too tired, you'll find a room in Norfolk for the night or if you get tired while on the road, you'll stop someplace and get some rest."

"Yes, Mom," he teased, lightening the mood considerably. It was almost as if a switch had been thrown, signaling that the conversation they'd been having was over. "I'll be fine. Promise."

"Okay."

They were both silent for a moment, neither quite willing to end the call yet. Then Harm glanced out the windows in the communications center and realized that it was time to go. "I need to get going," he said reluctantly. "Skipper said that if I don't take off by a certain time, I won't be leaving at all, at least not tonight."

"I understand," she replied. "Well, I'll see you. Goodbye, Harm."

"Goodbye, Sarah," he whispered just before he hung up the phone. He leaned against a control panel, watching lightning flash in the distance. "I love you, Sarah." The words came unbidden and he sighed, wondering if he'd someday have the chance – and the courage - to say them to her in person.

-----

Mac wanted to curl up on her bed and forget the rest of the world, but she knew she couldn't. There was too much to do, the first thing being that she needed to get a hold of Mic and let him know that she couldn't get married tomorrow. After that, there wouldn't be much else to do tonight, except for contacting the JAG staff, but she'd need to be up first thing in the morning to begin canceling all the arrangements. She wasn't sure that she could count on Mic to help with that. It was going to be hard enough just to get him to accept that she didn't want to get married.

She picked up the phone again and started to dial Mic's home number before she remembered that he wouldn't be there. Instead, she dialed his cell phone, but got his voice mail after four rings. Sighing, she decided to leave a message.

"Mic, um, as soon as you get this message, please call me," she said, her voice shaking almost imperceptibly. "It doesn't matter what time it is. I have to talk to you and it can't wait until tomorrow. Um, bye." She hung up then went ahead and dialed his home number, leaving the same message on his answering machine.

Clicking the phone off, she tossed it onto the bed and got up, striding into the living room with a sense of purpose. Chloe, who had been pacing behind the couch, stopped mid-stride and both she and Harriet looked at Mac expectantly.

"I need your help, Harriet," Mac said without preamble. "There's not going to be a wedding."

"Yes!" Chloe exclaimed, her voice nearly a shout. "Is that what you told Harm? Are you two going …?"

"Chloe," Mac interrupted firmly. Once Chloe had quieted down, she continued, "Yes, I told Harm, but no, I am not going to immediately jump from Mic to him. I told him that we have a lot to talk about and there are a lot of things that I need to work out in my mind first. He understands that, okay?" Chloe nodded reluctantly.

"Have you told Mic yet?" Harriet asked, sensing that her friend was holding everything in, trying not to think about the enormity of the decision she'd just made. If Mac was nothing else, she was driven and right now, her focus was on canceling all the arrangements with just over twelve hours to go before the wedding. She'd try not to let herself think about everything else until later, probably when she was alone and didn't have to worry about showing weakness in front of anyone, even two of the people closest to her.

She shook her head. "No," she replied. "I tried his cell phone, but got his voice mail. I can't remember if he had it with him at the rehearsal. I left a message there and on his answering machine at home and told him to call me as soon as he got the message, no matter what the time."

"I'm sure Bud has his cell phone with him, Ma'am," Harriet said. "Why don't I call him and have him put Mic on?"

Mac returned to the bedroom for the phone, which she handed to Harriet. After a few moments, she handed it back. "I got Bud's voice mail as well," she said. "Maybe they can't hear their phones ring in the bar or wherever they went. Do you know where they were planning on going? I don't."

"No," Mac replied, shaking her head. "All Mic said was that they were going out. Maybe Alan told Jackie." She went over to her desk and searched through some papers for the JAG phone roster, finally finding it buried under some reports she needed to sign off on, reports she probably should have left for Harm when she'd thought she'd be going on her honeymoon. Quickly, she skimmed over the list until she found Alan's home number and dialed it. After the second ring, Jackie picked up.

"Hello, Jackie, it's Colonel Mackenzie," she said. "Did Alan happen to tell you where all the guys were going tonight? I'm trying to get a hold of Mic and he's not answering his cell phone. He didn't tell me where they were going."

"I'm sorry, Colonel," Jackie replied. "Alan didn't tell me either. He just said not to wait up since he was going to be a designated driver and needed to make sure everyone got home okay. Ready for the big day tomorrow?"

Mac froze, not expecting to face the question of what to tell people this soon. Swallowing hard, she replied vaguely, "Is anyone ever ready for that?"

"I guess not," Jackie said with a laugh. "I remember that feeling. Anyway, I'm sorry I couldn't help you."

"Thanks anyway," Mac replied, then hung up. She looked at Harriet and sighed. "Alan didn't tell her either."

"Alan and Jackie, they are the Mattonis, right?" Chloe asked. At Mac's nod, she went on, "Why didn't you just tell Jackie that the wedding's off so they don't get up and try to go to the church tomorrow?"

"Because I need to get a hold of Mic first and let him know," she said. "I don't need everyone else finding out before him. If I can't get a hold of him immediately, he shouldn't have to find out through scuttlebutt."

"Do you think he's going to try to talk you out of it?" Chloe asked, concerned after what Mac had told them about the day she'd accepted Mic's proposal. She didn't want Mic to turn on the charm and try to talk Mac out of the decision she'd just made and she was afraid that he would.

"Probably," Mac admitted. "He loves me and this will be hard for him to accept, but I can't do this anymore. You, Harriet and Harm – all of you were right when you said I need to do what's best for me. For so long, I've been just going along with the flow, accepting what Mic wants and burying anything that might be contrary to that." She sank into a chair and sighed. "I wish I'd admitted that months ago before things got this far gone."

"So what did Harm call for?" Chloe asked, ready to change the subject away from Mic.

"He wanted to let me know that he's getting ready to leave the Patrick Henry," she replied. "He's been given a small window to take off in order to beat a storm that's heading that way. He's flying to Norfolk then will pick up his car at the airfield and drive back to Washington. By the way, Chloe, looks like you'll have a fourth person for the baseball game Sunday."

"Harm invited you to join us?" Chloe enthused. "You know, Dad and I could just stay here and you and Harm could go."

"Chloe, this is not a date," Mac said firmly. She wasn't ready for that. No, Chloe and her father being present would give her a kind of safety net, would prevent any conversation from getting too deep before she was ready. "I'm not ready for that and Harm understands. We're just going as friends. I don't know what's going to happen with Harm. There's a lot that we need to work out between us and after being involved with Mic for so long, I could probably use some time to myself without having to worry about …. romantic entanglements. I need to figure out some things about Sarah Mackenzie before I can bring someone else into the mix."

Chloe looked disappointed, the romantic in her expecting Mac to immediately turn to Harm for love and support. But Harriet nodded in understanding. "That's probably not a bad angle to approach this from," she mused. "I'm sure you want to avoid, um …."

"The same mistakes I've made in every other romantic relationship I've ever had?" Mac finished the thought. Harriet flushed slightly, but nodded. "It's okay. I do want to be able to work things out with Harm. I don't want to doom us by repeating past mistakes. For the first time in my life, I want to be sure."

Harriet smiled widely. "If you're sure, then there should be no reason why it won't work out," she assured her friend. "I do want you to know that your friends will be here for you."

"Thank you, Harriet," Mac said, her tone a bit uncertain. She wasn't used to so many people being there for her. She knew she had friends, but she still wasn't accustomed to such unconditional and unwavering support.

"Promise you'll call me if you need anything?" Harriet asked. She picked up AJ, who had fallen asleep on the couch while Mac had been in the bedroom, and cradled him in her arms. "I really should get this little one home. I'll give you a call tomorrow morning and you can let me know what you need me to do to help cancel everything."

"I appreciate that, Harriet," she replied, taking AJ from his mother while Harriet got her coat. "I'm not sure how much Mic's going to be willing to help out with that." She kissed her godson and handed him back after Harriet had pulled her coat on. "Drive safely. It looks like the storm's picking up."

Once Harriet had gone, she turned and looked at Chloe. "Why don't you grab your coat and I'll take you back to your hotel?" she suggested. "I think I need to get out of the apartment for a while."

"Mac, everything will work out," Chloe assured her, smiling. "You'll see. You and Harm are meant to be together. I wish it were going to be now, but I guess I understand why you want to move slowly. Just remember to let me know when you need a flower girl again."

Mac couldn't help but smile at her sister's enthusiasm. For the first time in so long, she actually felt like smiling. "We're nowhere near that point," she protested. "But someday, maybe …."

-----

USS PATRICK HENRY

"Hey, Hammer," Skates greeted him as met him in the corridor just past communications, her duffel bag slung over her shoulder. "I'm ready to go whenever you are."

"I'm ready," Harm replied. Not really, he told himself, but at least he knew that he wasn't returning only to watch the woman he loved slip away from him forever. He just had to try to have a little faith that the rest would work out eventually. "I just need to stop by my quarters and grab my bag. Griggs is already going over the Tomcat, so it should be ready to go when we are."

As they walked towards the section where Harm's temporary quarters had been, Skates noticed that his manner, if not as easy-going as usual, was more relaxed that it had been when she'd seen him earlier. "So, CAG said you were making a phone call," she began cautiously, prepared for him to evade the topic.

"I called Mac and let her know that I was getting ready to leave," he said, glancing back at her with a look that said he knew what she was up to. For some reason, he didn't really mind. Maybe he needed to talk to someone about it. Really, he needed to talk to Mac about it, but she wasn't around and God only knew when they would get the chance to talk – or when they would be ready to talk.

"So is she ready for the big day?" she asked.

Before Harm could reply, they were joined in the corridor by his former roommate, Tuna. "Is who ready for the big day?" he asked.

"Remember Colonel Mackenzie?" Skates asked. "Hammer's partner at JAG? She's getting married tomorrow."

"Not someone else getting married," Tuna exclaimed, rolling his eyes. "You haven't been here, Hammer, but Skates has been driving all of us crazy talking non-stop about her wedding plans. It must be something in the air."

"I doubt it," Harm replied with a perfectly straight face, remembering that Mac had never gone on and on about her own wedding plans. Not that she didn't drive people – or a certain person – crazy with talk of the wedding, any talk of the wedding. She'd just rarely talked about it. Maybe she'd known how much it had hurt him, even if it had only been subconsciously. "Mac is not getting married."

Skates stopped short, the dots suddenly connecting themselves in her mind. It seemed so obvious now. He'd been in a pretty depressed mood until he'd spoken to Mac and had learned that she wasn't going to get married. Suddenly, while his mood may not have been quite happy-go-lucky, he was definitely in better spirits than he'd been. "Is that what you were talking about when you said that there was something going on that was out of your hands?" she asked.

So Hammer has a thing for his JAG partner, she mused silently. The information might have been surprising, but somehow wasn't. He was a charming man and if she hadn't already been taken and he hadn't been a senior officer, she probably could have fallen for him herself. She could easily see how even a straight-laced Marine might not be immune to him.

Harm leaned back against the wall and sighed, his eyes going from Skates to Tuna, both of whom were watching him expectantly. "It's complicated," he said, "and that's all I'm going to say right now. There are still a lot of things to work out and a few wrinkles, not the least of which is her ex-fiancé, who is not going to be happy to hear that the wedding is off twelve hours before the ceremony was supposed to start."

"Who was she marrying anyway?" Tuna asked. He wasn't surprised at all to hear that Harm had feelings for Mac. He'd roomed with the guy for six months. He'd seen the look in his eyes when he'd talked about her. He'd seen the pictures that Harm had kept in his lock box, had caught him staring at them more than once with an expression he suspected had been regret.

"Remember Commander Brumby?" Harm said, barely managing to keep the distaste out of his tone.

"You mean that smug Aussie who was your co-counsel on Buxton's case?" Tuna asked incredulously. He hadn't really had any contact with the man when he'd been aboard for that court-martial, but he'd seen the frustration in Harm when he'd been forced to work with the guy. He also knew the man had taken Harm's place at JAG when he'd left. Intellectually, he supposed that his perception of the Australian was colored by Harm's attitude towards him. He knew Harm did not like the man.

"That would be him," Harm answered with a sigh. "It's a long story and that's all I'm going to say on the subject." His firm tone left no room for discussion.

"Whatever you say, Hammer," Tuna said with a shrug. Suddenly, he smiled as inspiration struck. "You're going to Skates' wedding, right? Bring the Colonel with you."

Harm didn't have to ask who he was talking about. He should have known the subject wouldn't be dropped. He probably wouldn't have if the situation had been reversed. "I don't know if Mac's going to want to go anywhere near a wedding anytime soon," he said emphatically. He wasn't sure about that one, even if she was willing to attend. Could friends of the opposite sex attend an event like a wedding together and not have everyone assume there was something more there? Sure, they'd been together a lot during Bud and Harriet's wedding, but that had been in their roles as best man and maid of honor. He was mindful of what Mac had said about needing time. Would inviting her to attend a wedding with him be too much, too soon? Or maybe he was just scared that she would watch someone else getting married and experience regrets about what might have been - what she'd turned her back on. Couldn't anything about their relationship ever be simple? Right, he told himself with a mental shake of his head, if it had been simple, maybe it would have been your engagement you'd been celebrating a few weeks ago, as she'd suggested. "I'll mention it to her."

"Just ignore Tuna," Skates said with a laugh. "He probably can't remember the last time a woman looked at him twice."

"Hey!" Tuna protested, punching her arm lightly.

Harm smiled as he listened to them. He could remember when that had been him, Mac and Bud, laughing and joking like that. Webb had called them the Three Musketeers once and they had been – all for one and one for all – right up until he'd decided to chase another dream. His and Mac's relationship was still recovering and even his friendship with Bud had changed to a certain extent. It was funny in a way. During his first tour of duty at JAG, he'd belonged there more than he ever thought he would. Then, he'd returned to carrier duty to find that he didn't fit in quite as well as he had before, as well as he'd thought he would. He was too old and had been out of the game too long. Then he'd returned to the placed he'd realized he truly belonged and hadn't fit in there either, not for a long time. Sometimes, what he wouldn't give for a time machine to go back and do it all over again. Then he wouldn't have been walking through the corridors of an aircraft carrier, consumed with thoughts of how out of control his life had been for the last two years. At least right now it seemed that his life had nowhere to go but up.

-----

"Commander, Lieutenant," Griggs said, saluting Harm and Skates as they stepped out onto the flight deck. The wind had picked up considerably, Harm guessing that it that it was gusting around gale force. It wasn't a problem – the Tomcat was designed to be able to fly through hurricane conditions and, at any rate, the winds would be even stronger at the level they would be flying. Nor was the light rain that was beginning to fall a concern. The weather the night of his crash had been worse than what they were currently experiencing and he'd been told their flight path and the path of the storm would not intersect. That was all he needed to know.

"Griggs," Harm replied, returning the salute. "Are we ready to go?" Griggs, who had been his plane captain at the end of his tour aboard the Patrick Henry, had jumped at the chance to service Harm's plane again. He was still grateful to him for saving him from a Captain's Mast, or worse, after a mishap with Lieutenant Buxton's plane.

"Everything checks out, Sir," Griggs answered, nearly shouting to be heard above the wind, as they made their towards the lone Tomcat on deck, all other planes having either having been relocated to the hangar deck in preparation for the coming suspension of flight operations or still on their way back in from flight, the CAG having given the call for all planes to return to the ship as he'd been leaving the bridge earlier. "She's good to go."

"Thank you, Griggs," Harm said, offering his hand.

"It was an honor to watch over your bird again, Sir," Griggs said. "It was good to have you back."

"It was good to be back," Harm said with a smile. He took a nostalgic look around the flight deck. He did still miss it sometimes. Shaking his head, he turned to Skates. "Let's get this bird in the air before the air boss changes his mind."

"I'm with you, Sir," she answered, tossing her gear into the Tomcat and climbing into the rear seat, strapping in. Harm took one last look around before climbing in himself. The canopy lowered as he began running through his pre-flight checklist.

"You still miss it sometimes, don't you, Sir?" Skates asked, having caught the wistful gaze as he'd looked around.

"Yeah, sometimes," he admitted softly, his words easily heard through the comm gear despite the roar of the engines as they powered up. "What about you? I heard you're going to be leaving once you get married."

"I'm sure I'll miss it, but he's worth it," she said confidently. Harm couldn't help but smile sadly, wishing he'd been that smart two years ago. Why couldn't he have admitted then that there was someone who meant more to him than his wings? Where was that time machine again?

He took a breath, his face becoming an unreadable mask. He had a job to do now and it was time to focus on that. He flipped on his radio. "Tower, this is Tomcat 241 requesting permission to depart."

"Tomcat 241, you have permission to depart from catapult two," came the reply from the air boss. Harm taxied the jet into position, and then waited while the hold-back bar was put into place. Once the crew stepped back, he turned his head to the left and saluted the catapult officer. Seconds later, Harm and Skates were jolted back in their seats as the catapult launched the Tomcat into the pitch black night.

-----

To be continued…


	2. Chapter 2

OVER THE ATLANTIC OCEAN  
APPROX. 300 MILES ESE OF NORFOLK

The flight had been smooth so far, the only sign of the bad weather near them the occasional illumination of nearby clouds as lightning flashed from the bottoms of the clouds. Harm was relatively relaxed – or as relaxed as one ever got while flying a forty million dollar aircraft – while Skates communicated with City Desk back on the Patrick Henry.

"Navy jet 241," the petty officer working the radio on the Patrick Henry said, his voice interrupted by periodic bursts of static, "I'm starting to lose you. Suggest you shift to Oceana Center."

"Roger," Skates replied. "Thanks for the help, City Desk."

"Have a good trip," City Desk answered before signing off. Static filled the airwaves and Skates was about to switch the radio over to Oceana when a yellow light appeared on her panel.

She dutifully reported, "We've got a low level oxygen light, Commander. We're going to have to take it down to ten thousand."

"Roger that," Harm replied calmly, as if low level oxygen lights were perfectly routine. As far as in flight problems went, it was relatively minor. They would simply drop down to an altitude where they wouldn't have to rely on the Tomcat's oxygen system. Although they would burn more fuel at a lower altitude, they still had plenty to get them to Norfolk, and with the bad weather miles away, their ride should remain pretty smooth.

As Harm began to descend through the clouds, Skates switched radio frequencies and raised Oceana Center. "Oceana Center, Navy 241 on 221.0," she said. "How do you read?"

"Navy 241, Oceana Center," a controller at the flight control center in Norfolk replied. "Loud and clear. Say position and altitude."

"Navy 241 approximately 275 miles east southeast of Center at ten thousand," Skates announced. She went on to inform them of the minor problems they'd run into during flight. "Be advised IFF and TACAN are intermittent. INS is inop. We intend to land at Norfolk."

"Be advised, Navy 241," Center replied, "we have some weather moving in. Forecast indicates we may have to suspend flight operations soon."

If Skates was bothered by the news, she didn't let on when she said, "Understood, Center. Keep us advised."

In the front seat, Harm was listening impassively to the chatter between Skates and Center while his mind began considering landing alternatives. The area didn't lack for military airfields – there was Dover Air Force Base a little further north, plus Pax River or Andrews Air Force Base inland, closer to DC. Even flying at a lower altitude than usual, they should have plenty of fuel to reach any of those places should the weather force a deviation from Norfolk.

While Harm was busy turning over the possibilities in his mind, Skates was busy with routine conversation with Center, which was telling her to broadcast their identification. She flipped a switch on her radio. "Navy 241, squawking 3214 and ident," Skates announced, her radio LCD display showing CH11 and 3214.

"No joy yet, Navy 241," Center replied. "Say heading. Advise when one fifty DME from Oceana."

"Roger," Skates said. "Heading 335. Will remain on this frequency." She glanced down at her radar screen. Damn, she thought. Oceana's not the only ones expecting some weather. "Harm, we've got a storm cell ahead at 15 miles."

While she hailed Oceana again to request that they deviate their flight path to go around the cell, Harm allowed himself a brief moment to curse the weather forecasters aboard the carrier, the same ones who'd sworn that their flight path would take them nowhere near the storm. He knew how to fly in bad weather and the F-14 was more than capable of handling it – as he'd once pointed out to Mac, they were designed to be able to withstand hurricane conditions.

But knowing intellectually that he and the jet could handle the weather was one thing. It was quite another to actually fly through a storm while trying not remember another storm, another dark night – one that had ended with one man dead and another on the verge of leaving the Navy.

He pushed the thoughts from his mind and focused on flying his plane, following Skates' request to turn left thirty degrees to go around the storm. "Coming left thirty degrees," Harm reported, the plane's left wing dipping down slightly as he banked to the left.

Skates frowned as she spied another cell coming up on their new path. "We've got another one at twenty miles," she told him. "In one minute, you'll need to come back right ten degrees."

"Roger that," Harm said, mentally counting down the minute in his head. Their zigzag maneuvering brought to mind another concern. "Skates, recalculate fuel upon arrival at destination."

Skates kept an eye on her radar screen while she calculated their fuel in her head. As if they didn't have enough to worry about flying at a low altitude, now they had to fly all over the ocean just to avoid the storms that weren't even supposed to be there in the first place. "Four thousand pounds," she reported, managing to mask her apprehension.

That would be cutting it very close, Harm realized. Perhaps too close. "Roger that," he said impassively, his voice not betraying how bothered he was by her report. "Keep me honest and let's try to get back on course as soon as possible."

Skates took a deep breath, understanding the unspoken message. They didn't have the fuel margin to fly all over the place trying to get to Norfolk. She glanced at her screen again, hardly comforted by what she saw. "Looks like we're going to have to run the gauntlet," she said, doing some more calculations in her head. If they could land in Norfolk, they should be okay. But if weather forced Norfolk to suspend flight operations, Skates wasn't sure they'd have the fuel to make an alternate landing site. She idly wondered what a commercial airport might say if they requested permission to land. That might be their only alternative. Otherwise, they'd be hard pressed to find a clear area large enough to land a Tomcat.

Suddenly, the Tomcat lurched, rolling onto its right side and nearly inverting before Harm was able to steady it, bringing it back upright. Skates gasped loudly, her gloved hands tightening into fists, her mind flashing on her crash several years earlier. "You just do that?" she asked, unable to keep the edge out of her voice.

"Negative," Harm replied, forcing his own breathing to remain steady.

"What happened?" Skates continued, quickly becoming frightened, a hint of that creeping into her tone. Planes didn't just suddenly invert on their own.

"Don't know," he answered, his eyes wide. Something tightened in the pit of his stomach and scenes of his crash flashed through his mind. Involuntarily, his hand tightened around his stick as another light, this one red, appeared on the panel. Suddenly, his attitude was all business as he forced the negative thoughts from his mind once again. "I've got a red flight. Flight system filter. Disengaging altitude control."

Skates forced another breath into her lungs at his statement. They'd nearly inverted just seconds earlier and now he was going to hold the plane level on his own? "It's bumpy out here, Harm," she pointed out. "You sure you want to fly her on your own?"

"No choice," he reminded her, although he shared her concerns. He flipped the switch to turn off the altitude control, the plane beginning to wobble as soon as it was off. He fought the stick, struggling to hold it steady at ten thousand. He knew that they had to get down and soon, but under the best of circumstances, they were still forty-five minutes from Norfolk. They couldn't afford to waste any more time out here. "Skates, get me the most direct route to Norfolk."

Skates' fright was growing as she looked at the radar again, the screen now almost completely filled with storm cells. Once they were on the ground, she intended to have some words with the weather forecasters who'd said they were safe to fly – after she let Robert hold her for a while. "I'm looking at the mother of all storm cells, Harm," she said quickly.

Harm caught the growing fear in her voice and forced himself to remain calm. If he could project a cool exterior, maybe Skates would feel more confident. "Well, we can't hop it," he pointed out. Their oxygen problem precluded that, even if he could control the plane enough to take it back up above the clouds. "We're low on oxygen."

Skates was a little calmer when she told him, "We'll have to go around it before we can go back to 335 and Norfolk."

Good, she sounded less uneasy. "How long?" he asked.

"Groundspeed, five hundred knots," she reported, "estimate sixteen minutes on our present course."

This pushed their flight time to Norfolk to over an hour. Harm realized that they were fast running out of options. Then it got worse, another light coming on. "Lost PC1," he reported.

"Turn off the roll, pitch and yaw stabilization systems," she said, her voice rising. Okay, Beth, she told herself. Breathe. This is Harm, the best pilot you've flown with. He can get us out of this.

But his next words and the tone of his voice did little to inspire her confidence. "Skates," he said, his voice louder as well, his words coming in a rush, "get us back on a direct track to Norfolk."

"Can't go straight through," she said, even as she wished that she could give him the report he wanted. "Change heading to 305. That way we'll skirt the cell."

"Check with Oceana Center," he ordered.

"Oceana Center, Navy 241," she said. "We are experiencing serious flight control problems."

"Roger that, 241," Center replied. "Are you declaring an emergency?"

"Not at this time, Center," he said, something he'd once told Mac coming to mind.

_Punching out is the last thing a pilot ever wants to do._

As long as he was able to control the plane, he was determined to keep it in the air and make it to Norfolk. Then he and Skates could drive back to Washington and maybe someday this would be a story they'd tell their children.

"Roger that," Center replied. "We copy. Negative radar contact. State position and altitude."

Wonderful, Skates thought. On top of everything else, they don't know where we are and I don't either. "Position unknown," she reported, more calmly than she felt. "Approximately 200 nautical east southeast of Norfolk. Altitude ten thousand."

"Roger. Can you return to the carrier?"

Skates almost snorted. "You're closer, Center," she said firmly, her tone letting them know that option was absolutely out of the question. They didn't have the fuel.

"What are your intentions?" Center asked.

"To continue inbound to Norfolk," she replied, confident in Harm's ability to get them there. At least, as long as flight operations weren't shut down. "What is your weather, Center?"

"Ceiling five thousand, visibility two miles," they reported back. "The weather is getting worse here, but we know you're coming. We'll try to stay open as long as possible. We'll see you when you get here."

"Roger that, Center," she said. "I'll hold you to that. Out." She flipped the radio switch to raise the Patrick Henry, static coming from the speakers. "City Desk, this is 241. We've lost PC1 and are experiencing flight control system problems. Over."

-----

USS PATRICK HENRY  
APPROX 500 MILES ESE OF NORFOLK

"Roger," the petty officer replied, glancing over his shoulder at the officer of the watch, who was hovering over his shoulder. The radio crackled with static. "What is your position?"

"Estimate our position at three eight three zero …." Skates voice broke off as static filled the air.

"241, do you copy?" City Desk called. "241, do you copy?"

The officer of the watch looked down at the radar screen as she ordered, "Try the transponder again."

The petty officer flipped a switch, he and the commander staring at the radar screen full of storms, no sign of Navy 241. He looked back at her, his tone grim, "No IFF signal, Ma'am. They're off the scope."

The commander immediately picked up the intercom and paged Captain Ingles, while the petty officer attempted to come up with a good estimate of 241's position. Within a couple of minutes, Ingles was there, pulling her aside. "Where are they?" he demanded.

"Past two hundred fifty miles, Sir," she replied. "We've lost radar contact and IFF signal."

"How'd this happen?" Ingles asked, his voice hard. He'd cleared them to take off, but only after he'd been assured that the bad weather would not be a concern. Ultimately, it was his responsibility that they were out there at all. And he was a man who took his responsibilities very seriously.

"Storm moved faster than forecast, Sir," she said. She could tell by the look in his eyes that he was far from satisfied with that answer, but it was the best she could offer him at the moment.

He sighed. There would be time later to have a discussion with the weather forecasters. Right now, he had a bird to find. "Thank you, Commander," he said. "That will be all."

"Aye, aye, Sir," she said smartly, turning on her heel to return to her duties.

Ingles picked up the microphone for the intercom and called for the Air Boss. "Boss, this is the Captain," he said. "Assign air crews for search and rescue. Prepare to launch a Seahawk and a Viking on my signal." He hung the microphone back up and stared out the forward windows at the worsening storm, the rain pounding against the windows, mentally saying a prayer for the two officers lost out in the middle of it.

-----

SOMEWHERE OVER THE ATLANTIC OCEAN  
APPROXIMATELY 200 MILES ESE OF NORFOLK

Over the ocean, miles from the nearest solid ground, the fact that they'd lost contact with the carrier was the least of their concerns, even if they could have known that they weren't transmitting an IFF signal at all. Harm was fighting to keep the jet in the air while Skates' eyes were glued to the radar screen. "We've got nothing but storm cells around us," Skates reported.

"We're losing PC2," Harm said, his eyes on his panel, where another light was blinking at him. "Recheck Oceana weather."

Skates switched the radio back to Oceana, but instead of the comforting voice of the radio controller at Center, she got a cold, mechanical recording. "This is Oceana metro. Reporting ceiling and visibility zero," the recording intoned.

She uttered a soft 'Damn' under her breath. If their flight had been bad before, it had just gone to hell. "Field's closed," she told Harm, even though he'd heard the same recording she just had.

"Check Pax River," Harm ordered, referring to the next closest field, but when she flipped the radio switch, they got an almost identical recording.

"Closed," she said. She began calculating in her head. Andrews and Dover, the next available landing sites, were about the same distance away. They'd be critical on fuel with either choice, but heading for Dover, they'd have no choice but to turn north and fly right through the storms. There was no way to go around, not with their fuel level. Andrews had just become their best bet, assuming it was open. She switched the radio channel again, resisting the urge to cheer when she got Washington Center instead of a recording. "Washington Center, this is Navy 241, approximately 270 miles east southeast of Andrews at ten thousand. We are experiencing serious flight control problems heading for Norfolk. Norfolk, Pax River are closed. Requesting deviation to Andrews."

"Deviation approved," Center replied. "Advise when 150 miles out."

"Roger," Skates replied. "Harm …."

The plane shuddered as it was stuck by lightning, Harm momentarily losing control. They inverted before he managed to fight the stick and turn the plane back upright. Then the lights went out in the cockpit, both Harm and Skates pulling out their flashlights so they could read their instruments. "Generators are out," Skates reported.

"Reset."

Skates pressed a button on her panel, but nothing happened. "Can't," she said, shaking her head.

Harm studied his panel. They'd risen in altitude slightly, their altimeter reading thirteen thousand. But a difference of three thousand feet from where they should be was nothing compared to all their other problems. "We've lost the electronics," he said. "Switch to emergency IFF."

Skates did so, reporting, "Squawking seven seven hundred. We've gone to four hundred knots."

"We're going to have to fly straight through," Harm told her.

"Harm," Skates countered, the fear creeping back into her voice, "that will put us in the middle of the biggest thunder bumper in the whole damn world."

"I'm flying it on trim as it is right now, Skates," he reminded her, his tone calmer than hers. He recognized that she was moving rapidly towards terrified and hoped that he could calm her again. "I don't know how much longer I can keep her in the air and now we've got to fly further than we were."

Come on, Skates, she admonished herself. You've got a job to do. Harm can't do this by himself. "Check the wet compass to get our heading," she said.

Harm lifted his flashlight, shining the light on the compass, the needle far from steady. "Best bet," he reported, "north northwest."

"Come left twenty degrees," Skates instructed, "350 knots, ten thousand feet." Harm followed her directions, turning them to the left to try to get them pointed back in the direction they were supposed to be going, or as close to it as she could estimate.

-----

USS PATRICK HENRY

The petty officer manning the radio breathed a sigh of relief when a blip appeared on his screen from 241's emergency IFF, but it was tempered by the knowledge that they were surrounded by storms. "We have an emergency IFF signal, Ma'am," he reported.

She immediately picked up the intercom and radioed Ingles. "Bridge, combat," she announced, "we have an emergency signal three hundred miles northwest, heading three four five."

Ingles acknowledged the news impassively. "Roger that, Commander," he replied. "Keep me informed of any change in status."

On the bridge, Ingles turned to the navigation officer. "Come right to course three four five," he ordered. "All engines ahead two-thirds."

The navigation officer immediately turned to his petty officer and repeated the order. "Right standard rudder," he said. "Come right to course three four five. All engines ahead two-thirds."

"Aye, aye, Sir," the petty officer replied, executing the course change to carry them closer to 241's last reported position.

The captain picked up the intercom again, calling air operations. "Air ops," he said, "notify FAA and the Coast Guard that we're commencing search and rescue operations and get the Air Boss and Paddles to meet me in CIC."

"Aye, aye, Sir," the officer on duty in air ops replied. Ingles hung the microphone up and strode off the bridge heading towards CIC.

-----

SOMEWHERE OVER THE ATLANTIC OCEAN

Harm realized that he was losing control of the plane and that their chances of making Andrews were virtually zero. It was time to consider alternatives. "Skates, what's the nearest point of land?"

"Cape Fear," she replied immediately, having already gone over the possibilities in her mind. It had helped distract her. "Estimate one hundred twenty miles due east."

"We're at two seventy five indicated air speed," Harm reported.

"Twenty five minutes flying time," Skates informed him after quickly calculating it in her head.

It was still too far, Harm realized. He had to admit that they'd finally run out of options. Mac's face floated into his thoughts as he made his decision. He had faith that they'd make it. Skates had a fiancé waiting back in Washington for her, and he…. well, he might not quite have Mac, but things were definitely looking better on that score than they had just hours before. "We're going to have to punch out," he told her calmly.

"We're at eight thousand," she reported. "When do we go?"

"At five thousand," he replied.

Skates broadcast a distress call over all channels, her voice shaky. "Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! Navy 241, one hundred twenty miles east of Cape Fear."

She adjusted her harness and called out to Harm, "Lock shoulder harness."

"Locked."

"Visor down," she continued.

"Visor down."

"Mask on," she said, locking her own mask into place on her helmet.

"Mask on," Harm echoed, positioning his mask.

"Lower seat." She dropped her seat into position while Harm did the same.

"Check," he replied.

"Passing seven," she reported. Just two thousand more feet. A matter of seconds in a Tomcat. When she spoke again, the reality of their situation was evident in her frightened tone. "Harm, I'm not a strong swimmer." About the only thing that was mildly comforting to her was that they had zero chance of crashing into the deck of a carrier. No chance of fire, no chance of being caught in the ship's screws.

"Just remember your survival training," he said calmly.

"Harm, we're passing six," she told him, her voice still shaky. "Command ejection rear seat." She pulled the level to give her control over their ejection as she tried to tell herself that Harm was counting on her as much as she was counting on him.

"Skates, we're going to get through this okay," he said reassuringly. "I'll see you down there. You have my word on it."

Skates managed a small smile behind her mask. "You haven't let me down yet," she said, remembering again her crash and his rescue of her.

For a brief instant, Harm was reminded of Mac and promises.

_Don't make a promise you can't keep._

_I haven't yet._

He'd made a promise to Mac as well, one to return. Originally, it had been a promise that he'd return for her wedding, but once that was over, it had turned into a promise to return to her. And that was one promise that he'd move heaven and earth to keep.

The plane shuddering beneath them, not responding to his control, Harm realized that they weren't going to make it to five thousand. "I've lost her, Skates," he called back to her. "Eject us now."

"Position yourself," she instructed, crossing her arms over her chest while Harm did the same. "Good luck, Harm." She reached over and pulled the ejection handle, the canopy blowing, her seat following seconds later.

"Damn it," Harm swore, his seat still firmly in place in the cockpit. "Eject." He reached down under the front of the seat and pulled the manual ejection handle, his seat finally firing. Seconds later, his chute opened, slowing his descent as the Tomcat dove into the ocean at over two hundred knots, shattering into pieces upon impact with the water.

-----

USS PATRICK HENRY

Ingles was conferring with the officer of the watch, the Air Boss and Paddles in CIC, standing in front of a large electronic map of the ocean and East Coast of the United States. The officer of the watch was motioning towards the map. "This is their last known location," she reported. "They were at ten thousand feet."

"All right," Ingles said, "describe an arc around here of fifty miles. That's where we'll start our search. Boss, notify the Coast Guard, FAA, and AIRLANT. I'm the on-scene commander." He was responsible for them being out there. It would be his responsibility to bring them home.

"Aye, aye, Sir," the Air Boss replied. He turned to Paddles, who had been silent so far. "I want you to spearhead this in a Viking."

"Roger, Boss," Paddles replied, not waiting to be dismissed before turning to leave. He had things to do and not a lot of time to do them. He needed to be up in the air now. In a situation like this, every second counted.

The Air Boss turned back to Ingles, who ordered, "As soon as they're ready, I want Paddles and the Seahawk in the air."

"Aye, aye, Sir," he replied, turning on his heel to leave.

Ingles stared out the window again, watching the rain pound against the glass. He picked up the intercom microphone and announced, "Captain Pike to the Captain's Ready Room."

He left CIC, mentally preparing himself for the toughest duty, bar none, that any commander would ever have to perform and the one that every one prayed they'd never be called upon to do.

-----

Once in his ready room, Ingles allowed himself a private moment in which the impassivity he wore like a mask slipped and he let his emotions show in his manner, his expression. Waiting for the CAG, he slowly paced the room. Twelve steps to the far wall, twelve back. And while he paced, he considered the two officers whose lives were depending on what he did this night.

He'd had his run-ins with both of them over the mishap which had led to Skates' court-martial. He'd been so sure he'd been doing the right thing, bringing charges against her. A pilot and RIO could have lost their lives that night. But although he would never admit it, even he'd been impressed by Skates' testimony, when she'd offered to resign. It had reminded him of a story he'd once heard of a CAG facing court-martial who'd testified that when the day came when he felt he could no longer serve the Navy he loved, they wouldn't have to ask for his resignation because he would tender it himself without hesitation. Skates had eventually been acquitted and had returned to duty on the Patrick Henry. Many captains, despite her acquittal, might have transferred her off their ship, but he'd given her another chance, his silent way of saying that he may have been wrong. And she'd made the most of it. He was truly sorry that they were going to lose her to shore duty when she got married.

During the court-martial, Harm had been Skates' lawyer, so he'd been the enemy in Ingles' eyes. It didn't matter that he'd spent six months flying off the Patrick Henry previously, earning his second Distinguished Flying Cross. All that mattered was that the pilot-turned-lawyer-turned-pilot-turned-lawyer was a very prickly thorn in his side. Later, he'd admitted to himself that if their positions had been reversed, he probably would have behaved the same way Harm had. He'd just been doing his job. He was tenacious, whether in the courtroom or in the air. He'd shown that earlier today. He might have started out a bit shaky – although it appeared Paddles had been just a little late with the wave off – but he'd shaken it off to nail his next four landing attempts, posting the highest scores of all the pilots flying their quals.

He stopped in mid-step as Captain Pike stepped into the Ready Room. Ingles was gratified to note that he was carrying a couple of folders with him, which he presumed held contact information for Harm and Skates. He sat down at the table, motioning to Pike to take a seat as well.

"We've lost contact with 241," Ingles said without preamble. "They dropped down to ten thousand because of a low oxygen light and ran right into that storm out there. They suffered at least one lightning strike and subsequent systems failures, according to controllers at Norfolk. We think they've gone down a little more than halfway between here and Norfolk. We lost radio contact, then a few minutes later picked up an emergency IFF signal, then lost that, too. The last voice contact with 241 was reported by Washington Center. It was a mayday, right around the time we lost the emergency IFF."

"Rabb's a good pilot," Pike said. "If anyone could have held that bird long enough for them to eject, it's him."

Ingles nodded slowly. "I know," he said. "We're getting ready to launch a Seahawk and a Viking piloted by Paddles towards where we think they went down."

Pike handed over the folders he'd brought with him over to Ingles. "I suspected what is going on when you called for SAR," he explained. "I knew Hammer and Skates were the only ones still in the air at this point, so I went ahead and pulled these."

Ingles sighed heavily as he opened Skates' folder, perusing her emergency contact information. "Lieutenant Commander Robert Drake," he read. "Her fiancé?"

"Yes," Pike replied. "They're getting married in five weeks."

"Damn," Ingles whispered. Anyone who ever made command rank prayed that he or she would never have to utter or write the words 'We regret to inform you ….' Those words gave even the most battle-hardened veteran pause. He picked up the phone and requested a ship to shore line from communications. In less than a minute, the line was ringing as the connection was made. He glanced at his watch, which he kept set to the time in Norfolk, the Patrick Henry's home base. The joke between him and his wife was that she wanted him to always know the time where she was, so he didn't try to call home too early or too late.

It was just past 2330 hours on the east coast, so he wasn't ready to give up even after the phone rang several times. Since it was late and he was probably expecting his fiancée to arrive in the morning, the man was likely in bed. Finally, the phone was picked up after the fifth ring. "'lo?" the sleepy voice asked.

"Lieutenant Commander Robert Drake?" Ingles asked. In his quarters at the Washington Naval Yard, Robert Drake sat straight up in bed, suddenly wide awake. He'd been in the Navy long enough to recognize the voice of someone in command when he heard it and hearing such a voice in the middle of the night was never a good thing.

"Yes, Sir," he replied, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he balanced the phone between his ear and shoulder. He climbed out of bed and went to his closet, pulling out a neatly hung summer white uniform.

"This is Captain Tobias Ingles from the Patrick Henry," Ingles said. Robert froze, the hanger he held slipping from his hand, his uniform landing in a puddle of fabric on the floor. He'd expected the call to be from someone on base, reporting that there was some kind of accident or incident requiring him to speak to the media in his capacity as the base public affairs officer. He'd never imagined that the call would be about Beth. She should have been sound asleep in her bunk on the ship, resting up before taking a helo to Washington in the morning. "Lieutenant Hawkes was on her way to Norfolk when contact was lost with the Tomcat in which she was flying approximately 200 miles east southeast of Norfolk. We're launching search and rescue teams as we speak."

"What was Beth doing in a Tomcat?" Robert asked, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice. He glanced through his curtains, watching the rain fall outside the window. He loved the rain – it was something he and Beth had in common. They loved taking walks in the rain. Now she was out in it, fighting for her life. "She was supposed to be taking a helo back in the morning."

"One of our pilots was flying to Norfolk then driving on to Washington tonight," Ingles replied. "Lieutenant Hawkes was given permission to fly with him rather than wait until morning to leave. They dropped down in altitude because of a low oxygen light and ran into a storm that had moved directly into their flight path faster than expected. Commander Rabb tried to keep the Tomcat in the air, but they suffered multiple systems failures and at least one lighting strike from what we've been able to find out from Oceana Center."

"Commander Rabb was the pilot?" Robert asked. He'd heard Beth speak often of the man, who almost sounded like he could walk on water from her description. If he were the jealous type, he might have a problem with her close friendship and obvious admiration of the man. But she'd introduced the two after her court-martial and Robert knew that if the man was as good in the air as he'd demonstrated he was in the courtroom, then she stood a fighting chance. But that confidence was tempered by the knowledge that Beth was not that good a swimmer. Previously, he'd teased her about that, a sailor not being a proficient swimmer. Suddenly, it was not funny at all.

"Yes, he was," Ingles confirmed. "She's in good hands out there."

"I concur," he replied softly. "From what Beth's told me, he's the best she's seen." He bent down and picked up his white uniform, hanging it back in the closet, making sure it was hung neatly, just to keep his hands busy. He then pulled out another hanger, this one holding a khaki uniform. "Sir, I would like to come out to the _Henry_. I'd like to be there when Beth is rescued."

"Commander, nothing's coming out to this ship tonight," Ingles pointed out. "We've already lost one aircraft to this storm. The only vehicles going anywhere will be the search and rescue craft."

"Sir, I need …." Robert began.

"However," Ingles continued, as if Robert hadn't spoken, "there is a helo that flies out here from Norfolk every morning. Obviously, if the weather is still bad, the flight will be cancelled. But if it flies, there should be room for a passenger." Maybe not quite standard operating procedure, but Commander Drake was Navy. He would know to stay out of the way of the ship's crew while they did their jobs. And maybe Ingles felt he owed Skates this small consideration.

"I'll leave for Norfolk as soon as I can throw some things in a bag," he said quickly. "Thank you, Sir."

"If there's any news before you fly out, we'll contact the terminal at the airfield in Norfolk," Ingles assured him.

"Thank you, Sir," he said gratefully. "I …. um, I appreciate this. Just …. do everything you can, Captain."

"We are doing everything to rescue them," Ingles stressed.

"I know," Robert whispered. "Thank you again, Sir." He clicked off the phone, not caring if the captain might find that rude, letting the handset slip from his hand to fall to the floor. Clutching his uniform in his hands, he sank down on the edge of the bed, his eyes falling on a picture of Beth sitting on his night stand. He reached over and picked it up, his eyes moving over her smiling face. It had been taken during their last leave together, when they'd spent a few days up at Martha's Vineyard. That had been the weekend they'd finally set a date for their wedding.

A single tear slipped down his cheek as he whispered in prayer, "God, just bring her home safe. Please just keep her safe and bring her home."

-----

CHEGWIDDEN RESIDENCE  
MCLEAN, VIRGINIA

AJ was wide awake and sitting up in bed before the phone had finished ringing the first time. It was a skill honed during over thirty years in the Navy. When the phone rang in the middle of the night, there wasn't time to slowly wake up, to allow whatever news was being imparted by the person on the other end to sink in. So he'd learned to awaken in an instant. A person speaking to him after waking him up in the depths of the night would swear he'd been wide awake already when the phone rang. He picked up the phone on the second ring. "Admiral Chegwidden," he said.

"Admiral, this is Captain Ingles from the _Patrick Henry_," Ingles said. A.J.'s breath caught in his throat as he realized what he was about to hear, knowing there was only one reason why the other man would be calling now. He closed his eyes as the other man continued, "Commander Rabb and Lieutenant Hawkes were flying a Tomcat to Norfolk when they experienced flight control problems and they flew into a storm that had moved faster than forecast. Contact was lost with them about 200 miles east southeast of Norfolk. We've launched SAR towards their last reported position."

"Understood," A.J. said, pushing back the bed covers with his free hand, already planning what he needed to do. "I'll head into JAG. You can contact me there when you have news. I assume you'll handle contacting the Commander's family?"

"Actually, the Commander's emergency contact information lists only you and Colonel Mackenzie," Ingles said. "I don't have information for any members of his family."

"Colonel Mackenzie?" AJ muses, wondering why she would be down as an emergency contact. Suddenly, he remembered. Harm had put her down as a contact just before he'd gone to Russia the first time, before AJ had made the decision to send Mac with him. He must have never changed it. He didn't envy Ingles the job of telling Mac that her best friend was missing, although a part of him considered suggesting that he contact her, but he knew that Ingles would consider it his duty to do so. It was only lack of information preventing the captain from calling the Burnetts or Harm's grandmother. "That's okay, I remember. I believe we have contact information for the Commander's parents and grandmother in his personnel folder at JAG."

"Admiral, the weather is nasty out here," Ingles informed him, his voice tinged with regret. He wanted to make sure AJ was fully aware of just how dire the situation was. He figured the ex-SEAL would not want it sugar-coated for his benefit. "I may have to pull the SAR team if it doesn't let up."

"Understood," AJ said, intellectually knowing that Ingles had to take into account the safety of the men and women tasked with trying to find Harm and Skates. It didn't mean he had to like it. "Keep me informed."

"I will, Admiral," Ingles replied. Without another word, Ingles disconnected. AJ stared at the phone for a long moment, pondering how to proceed. He'd never thought he'd face a situation like this again, having to inform family, friends and co-workers that someone close to them was missing. He thought he'd seen the last of that when he'd left the SEALs, then left Surface Warfare for JAG. Being a lawyer had to be about as close as you could get to a safe occupational specialty in the military – unless your name happened to be Rabb or Mackenzie.

He smiled grimly as he remembered the last time he'd faced a situation similar to this, when Harm and Mac had been reported dead after crashing a MiG-29 into a lake in Siberia. Of course, that time he'd known that there had been more to the story and he'd moved heaven and earth to find them. Then, there had been something he could do. Now, there were no bad guys lying through their teeth, no hope that this was just some sick joke. Harm and his RIO really were lost in the middle of an angry, dark, storm-tossed sea.

_Colonel, the Commander is too damn pig-headed to leave this world._

God. How is Mac going to react, he wondered Right now, Captain Ingles was probably talking to her, telling her that her best friend was in danger. Tomorrow – no, today, he corrected himself, glancing at his alarm clock – should have been the happiest day of her life. And now …. he shook his head. He'd stopped long ago trying to figure out that tangled web and it hardly mattered now. All that mattered was that he be there for his people as they waited and prayed for one of their own. It was an unspoken law of command – never get too close to your subordinates. But somehow during the last five years, the people at JAG had managed to become like a family, with him as its head and, although the gruff Admiral would never admit it aloud, he wouldn't have it any other way.

Sighing, he clicked on the phone and hit speed dial four, wondering how to tell two people who'd already endured more than their share of tragedy during the last few months the news about a man who was probably like a brother to them. Then maybe when that was done, he could figure out how to start telling everyone else.

-----

MAC'S APARTMENT

Mac jerked awake as a loud banging invaded her sleep filled consciousness. She ran a hand through her hair, then rubbed the sleep from her eyes, praying that it wasn't Mic. She hadn't been able to get a hold of him yet and with every hour that passed, bringing the wedding closer, the knot in the pit of her stomach grew larger. She'd wanted to get it over with, to feel the weight lift from her shoulders. But not now.

Filled with apprehension, she grabbed her robe from the closet and pulled it on, knotting the belt around her waist as she walked to the door. She glanced through the peephole, gasping with surprise when she saw who was on the other side. With a wide smile, she threw the door open.

"Harm!" she exclaimed, his mouth coming down on hers before she could say more. His arms went around her, holding her tight against him as he moved her back towards the bedroom. "I thought you were going to talk to Renee first." She managed to stutter between dazzling kisses which were igniting a fire that was spreading its liquid warmth throughout her body.

"I couldn't stay away," he whispered, his mouth leaving hers to press light kisses along her jaw. "I …." His voice trailed off as his lips moved lower down her neck and over her chest.

"I'm glad," she replied, moving her hands between them to tug down the zipper of his flight suit, the fabric parting to reveal the white t-shirt he wore underneath. She ran her hands over him, her fingers finding and circling around his nipples, working them into hard peaks. "I thought we'd need space, but I wouldn't have been able to stay away either."

His hands weren't idle either, pulling on the tie at her waist, her robe falling open. He looked down and smiled when he recognized the nightgown she was wearing. He trailed a finger along the top edge of the bodice, her body tingling from his light touch. "You know how many fantasies I've had about you in this nightgown?" he muses.

She smiled slyly, letting her robe fall from her shoulders, turning around slowly as he looked his fill, reveling in his admiring gaze. When she finished her revolution, her hands went to his shoulders, pushing the top of his flight suit off. "You'll have to fill me in sometime," she told him in a husky whisper. "I want to hear all about your fantasies."

"Later," he countered, sitting on the edge of the bed to remove his boots. He stood again long enough to remove his flight suit and the rest of his clothes. Mac started to lift her gown over her head, but Harm put a hand on her arm to stop her. "Leave it."

"Those must have been some fantasies," she teased as he sat back down on the edge of the bed, pulling her into his lap, pushing the skirt of her gown out of the way, bringing their bodies in intimate contact. She pressed against him, delighting in his harsh groan.

"It's better …. than I remember," she gasped, tossing her head back as they came together. He leaned forward, the tip of his tongue tracing a path down her throat. "Oh, Harm …. "

Harm cupped the back of her head, lifting her up to meet his gaze. "God, Sarah," he whispered, his tone tortured, "I love you. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you before, but I love you …."

-----

"I love you, too, Harm," Mac murmured in her sleep, her head tossing back and forth on the pillow, caught up in the explicit dream she was having. "I tried so hard to convince myself that I didn't, that I loved Mic instead, but I can't do it anymore."

_Commander Mackenzie strode the deck of the Somers with firm, measured steps, nothing of his thoughts showing in his expression. Nearly the entire crew was gathered on the deck, watching the proceedings with fearful eyes. But for the grace of God, any one of them could have been up there, a rope around his neck, about to be hung as a mutineer. Those who had heard whispers and had secretly applauded the proposed action thanked Heaven that they hadn't gone further and offered their support. Those who staunchly supported the captain knew that an example had to be made of these men lest others try the same thing. A few fair minded sailors wished that the accused had been held until they docked, where Naval authorities could handle their punishment, but they didn't dare speak out or it might be their necks in a noose._

_Mackenzie stopped in front of each man, forgiving them their transgressions as he personally pulled a black hood over each man's head. First, the son of the Secretary of War, the mastermind – if such a word could be applied to the nervous Spencer – of the plot to take over the ship. Then Seaman Jacobs, a conscript who rumor said wanted nothing more than to get off the Somers through whatever means. He was about to get his wish, although in a manner that he'd probably never considered. Finally, Chief Burnett, a veteran Navy man for whom the evidence was mostly circumstantial. But it was his involvement in the mutiny which bothered the captain the most. He was the highest ranking enlisted man on the boat, a sailor to whom just about every enlisted man looked up. If his involvement had been more overt, Mackenzie knew he wouldn't have stood a chance of putting down the mutiny. While Burnett might have been only peripherally involved, in a way his death was the most necessary to send a message to the rest of the crew._

_Mackenzie's cold eyes swept over the mutineers one final time before he lifted his arm, prepared to give the signal to the men manning the rope which would snuff out three lives. His eyes remaining on the condemned men, he brought his arm down, ordering, "Pull!"_

_With grunts and groans, the sailors pulled the rope, lifting the three men off the deck, legs kicking as they fought. Jacobs even lifted his hands, clawing at the rope tightening around his throat. Mackenzie watched impassively as the three men kicked and jerked, then one by one their bodies spasmed, and then all was still …._

-----

"Harm!" Mac screamed, her eyes snapping open, gasping for breath as Harm must have done in her dream. No, not Harm, she told herself. Just someone who looked like him. Right, she chided herself. Someone who looked amazingly like Harm being put to death by a tyrannical Naval commander who could have been Mic's twin?

Suddenly, Mac started laughing, realizing how ridiculous the dream was. Mic wasn't like that. He would not be happy to have the wedding called off and it wasn't outside the realm of possibility that he would blame Harm to some degree. But Mic wasn't a murderer.

It was simply stress, she decided. Mic hadn't called, so she still had the specter of the wedding hanging over her head. She was facing an unknown future, having given up the guarantee of a home and family with Mic for the uncertainty of trying to build a relationship with Harm. She no longer drank her way to oblivion to escape her life, so her mind was searching for other ways to hide from all the pain she knew today would bring.

With a shaky laugh, she rolled onto her side and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to force herself to go back to sleep. She figured the time and guessed that Harm would be landing in Norfolk about now. Recalling her earlier dream, she smiled. Maybe dreams could come true, she told herself. Maybe she'd wake up in a few hours to find Harm on her doorstep.

Smiling at the thought, she tried to focus her mind on the first dream, but her train of thought was broken by the ringing of the phone. She drew in a deep breath and slowly exhaled, trying to mentally prepare herself to tell Mic her decision. She let the phone ring two more times before she picked it up, knowing that there was no way to fully prepare for what she had to say.

"Hello?" she said nervously.

"Colonel Mackenzie, this is Captain Ingles," Ingles said, causing Mac to freeze. She almost wished it had been Mic, knowing that there was only one reason why the captain of the Patrick Henry would be calling her in the middle of the night.

"What happened to Harm?" she asked, fighting to keep her voice steady, her fingers tightening around the phone. She would not lose it, she told herself. She had to be strong.

"Contact was lost with Commander Rabb's Tomcat about two hundred miles east southeast of Norfolk," he told her. "We've launched a Seahawk and Viking as part of a search and rescue operation."

"What happened?" she asked. Russia flashed in her mind. At least when they'd had to punch out, they'd managed to come down on solid ground rather than in the lake. But Harm was out over the ocean, miles away from land. "Why did he go down?"

"From what we've found out from Oceana Center, they had an oxygen problem and were forced to descend to ten thousand," he explained. "They flew right into a number of thunderstorms and suffered more systems failures."

"I thought the weather was supposed to be clear in their flight path?" she demanded. She'd been worried about Harm, tired from his flight, driving from Norfolk to Washington. It had never occurred to her to worry about the flight itself.

"The weather forecast was wrong," he said simply.

Mac laughed bitterly. "That's usually supposed to be a joke, saying that the weather forecasters got it wrong," she retorted. She uttered a few colorful oaths in Farsi under her breath.

"Colonel, we are doing everything we can to find Commander Rabb and Lieutenant Hawkes," he tried to assure her.

She took a deep breath to calm herself, realizing that she was close to losing it. Harm will get through this, she said to herself, repeating it like a mantra. If she said it enough times, maybe she'd convince herself enough to hold it together until he was found. "Captain, if they went down in bad weather, what about search and rescue?" she asked. "Are they going to have problems because of the weather?"

Ingles hesitated for a moment, before deciding that the Marine he was talking to would not want him to soften the truth. "The weather is a concern," he told her. "We have a low ceiling and twenty foot swells, but we will stay out there as long as we can keep the rescue craft in the air. No one here is giving up on Rabb and Hawkes."

Forcing back tears, Mac said, "Thank you for being straight with me, Sir." Why now? She finally had a chance with Harm and now this. She stared down at the bedspread, tracing random patterns on top of it with a finger while she struggled to figure out what to say next. It came to her and she steeled herself for an argument. She had to tell Harm …. He just had to know. "Captain, I'd like to come out to the Patrick Henry."

Her eyes widened in surprise when, instead of the fight she'd been expecting, she got his agreement. "Lieutenant Hawkes' fiancé made the same request when I called him a few minutes ago," he revealed. "Nothing is certain because of the weather, but there is a helo scheduled from Norfolk in the morning. If it goes, a seat on the flight is yours."

She nodded before realizing that Ingles couldn't see the gesture. "Thank you, Sir," she said gratefully. "I'll throw a few things in a bag and leave for Norfolk within the hour."

"If there is any news, I will contact the terminal at Norfolk and leave a message for you and Commander Drake," he told her. "Colonel, we will find them."

He sounded so confident that Mac wished she could borrow some of that for herself. Not that she doubted Harm's survival skills. Far from it. They'd been through enough life and death situations together that she had no doubts about that, at least the Marine in her didn't. The woman in her, however, was terrified and wouldn't rest easy until she could see him alive and well, until she could hold him in her arms. "Thank you, Captain," she said softly before clicking off the phone.

She set the phone back on the nightstand. She wanted to shake, needed to scream about the unfairness of it all, desired to give free reign to the tears she was currently holding at bay. But she couldn't. There was too much to do. Forcing back her emotions, she jumped from the bed and grabbed her overnight bag, throwing things in it automatically, knowing how and what to pack through years of practice.

While she packed, she considered who to contact. She wanted to call Chloe, hear her youthful optimism that everything would be fine. Maybe Bud and Harriet could remind her again of all the dire situations that Harm had faced before and had come through just fine. But she was afraid that any one of them might try to talk her out of going to the Patrick Henry and she wasn't about to be dissuaded. She didn't really want to talk to him right now, but she knew she needed to call Mic. He had to be home by now and she owed it to him to not let any more time pass before he was told of her decision.

With a heavy sigh, she stopped her packing and picked up the phone, dialing Mic's number. In his apartment, he lay sprawled face down across his bed, where he'd thrown himself after Alan and Bud had driven him home, too drunk to be bothered by the ringing phone.

When Mac got the answering machine, she hung up without leaving a message, pushing thoughts of Mic from her mind. How or when he would find out had just become the least of her worries. What did a wedding, a cancelled one at that, matter when Harm was out on the ocean somewhere, fighting for his life?

She returned to her packing, stripping off her nightgown and folding it, laying it on top before zipping her bag up.

_Leave the lingerie at home this time._

"Not this time," she said aloud, managing a half-hearted smile at the memory. Maybe it was crazy, but that nightgown, the one she'd worn in Russia, carried with it some very fond memories. If nothing else, it could remind her while she waited for news.

Quickly, she dressed in her uniform and ran her fingers through her hair, trying to bring some semblance of order to it, glancing at her reflection in the mirror over the dresser. God, look at me, she thought. Harm's missing and I'm worried about how I look. A single tear slipped down her cheek and she brushed it away.

She turned away from the mirror and went to her nightstand, opening the drawer and withdrawing Harm's letter and his wings. Clutching the wings in her hand, she promised herself that as soon as she saw him, she'd return his wings. Harm had shown her that flying wasn't more important than her by giving them to her, so she'd pin them back on his uniform to show that she wasn't threatened by his need to fly.

Oddly calmed by the thought, she carried her bag, the letter and wings to the living room. She set the bag on the couch, stashing the letter in a side pocket of her bag, keeping the wings with her. She went over to her desk and booted up her laptop so she could send a message to the Admiral. Technically, she was on leave for the next two weeks, but she needed to tell him something, especially if he ended up getting caught up in the fallout from what she was about to do.

While she waited for the computer to come up, she retrieved Harm's flight jacket from the closet and pulled it on. Even though she'd had it for two days, she could still detect a faint whiff of his aftershave. She wrapped her arms around herself, imagining that it was his arms around her, holding her tight, his scent invading her senses. She wondered if she closed her eyes, if she would see him standing there.

Finally, she heard the musical tones that signaled that Windows was coming up. Sitting down at her desk, she forced herself not to fidget while Windows finished loading. Once it was up, she opened her e-mail program and composed a message to AJ.

To: **chegwiddenajaghq.navy.mil**  
From: **mackenziesjaghq.navy.mil**  
Subject: FYI

Admiral,

I'm sure you've already heard about Harm's crash. Captain Ingles called me – I guess Harm never took me off his emergency contact list. I asked that I be allowed to go out to the carrier and he agreed that Skates' fiancé and I could come out on the morning helo, provided the weather clears. I need to be there when they find Harm. I'm sorry to tell you like this, but honestly I didn't want to take the chance that you would try to talk me out of this. I have to do this.

I know that this will cause a lot of problems for some people and there is a lot of stuff going on that no one knows about yet and this is not the time to get into all that. I did try to contact Mic, but he's either still not home or not answering his phone. If he asks questions – and I'm sure he will – you can tell him whatever you feel you need to. I know that I will have to deal with him eventually, but I can't right now. Right now, my primary concern is Harm.

She read over the message. It felt incomplete, but she wasn't sure what else to say. She hated dumping her problems with Mic in her friends' laps, but she didn't have a choice. With a heavy sigh, she signed off on the message and sent it, her e-mail program set to automatically dial her internet service, in this case the remote access to the JAG server. Once the message was sent, she powered off her laptop and leaned back in her chair, deep in thought, trying to figure out if there was anything else she had to do before leaving for Norfolk.

She practically jumped out of her chair and went over to the bookcase, pulling off the shelf the photo album which had so fascinated Chloe two days earlier. She would have several hours' wait ahead of her in Norfolk, maybe more if the weather didn't clear. She would look through the album, remember everything she and Harm had shared, and remind herself that Harm was first and foremost a survivor. And he would survive this. She refused to believe anything different.

-----

To be continued…


	3. Chapter 3

THE ROBERTS' RESIDENCE  
ROSSLYN, VIRGINIA

Harriet lay curled up against Bud's side, too keyed up sleep. The last time she'd felt this anxious had been the night before her own wedding, when she'd had doubts about her own future after watching her fiancé be led out of a strip club in handcuffs. But this was her best friend's wedding – or was supposed to have been. She should have been the one offering comfort to a harried bride, not trapped by wakefulness, wondering what tomorrow would bring.

She was worried – not so much about Mac. When she'd left Mac's place earlier, it had amazed her how well Mac had been holding it together. Oh, she'd been worried about telling Mic and how he would react, but she'd sounded so sure about the decision itself. It was about time Mac sounded sure about something, she admitted. It was the fallout that concerned Harriet. Mic had thrown himself, heart and soul, into the idea of marrying Sarah Mackenzie and she wasn't sure how he was going to react to having his dreams shattered just hours before they were to come true. She didn't think he would turn violent, at least not towards Mac. But Harm …. Harriet knew from Bud what had happened in Sydney, how Harm and Mic had beaten each other black and blue. Ostensibly, the fight had been ordered by the Admiral as punishment for breaking Bud's jaw, but Bud had admitted – in not so many words – that the fight had really been about other things. She knew that Mac did care about Mic and that it was hurting her to hurt him, but if he became angry and turned that anger towards Harm, Harriet wasn't sure what would happen, how Mac would react.

She studied her husband for a moment, marveling at how simple her life was by comparison. Sure, she and Bud had experienced more tragedy than she'd ever thought they would, but they'd held onto their love for each other, and their love for their son, and it had seen them through. After they'd managed to survive the death of their daughter together, she was confident that she and Bud could get through anything as long as they had each other. To her, that was what love boiled down to – being there for each other, supporting each other, bolstering each other's spirits. She didn't think she could ever understand how Mac had come so close to marrying a man whom she didn't have those feelings for and whom she suspected was not that completely devoted to her.

She didn't doubt Mic loved Mac, but sometimes it concerned her that his love was a bit on the possessive side. The office gossips had been working overtime after Mac had publicly called Mic on calling her his fiancée in _People_ Magazine. She hadn't really thought about it too much at the time – it had happened just before baby Sarah had been born and died – but it seemed so obvious now that things had hardly been right in that relationship. Hell, she thought, it should have been obvious from the fact that Mac kept that ring on her right hand for ten months. Then when Mac and Harm had been in the Barents Sea, you would have thought they were on the verge of carrying on a mad, passionate affair the way both Mic and Renee had been obsessing about it, despite the fact that they were on two different submarines. And Bud had told her about how Mic had blindsided Mac – Harriet couldn't think of another word to describe what he'd done – with the fact that he'd started his own law firm which specialized in defending people accused of crimes by the military. She couldn't imagine Bud ever doing something like that to her – or Harm doing that to Mac.

But Harm and Mac …. they already had been there for each other, so many times. Harriet could lay awake all night and probably not remember all the stories about all the times they'd stood by each other, protected each other, and supported each other. She wondered why she hadn't thought about all this before, about the possibility that Mac was planning to marry the wrong man. It now occurred to her that the day in the office when Harriet had first noticed that the ring had moved that she'd been happier than the soon-to-be bride. Harriet had shown off her ring to everyone at the office immediately after Bud had slipped it on her finger. Mac had seemed like she was almost hoping no one would notice it, especially Harm, whom Harriet now realized had looked like he'd been punch in the gut when he'd first seen the diamond sparkling on her left hand. How could she not have seen it? How could they all have been so blind? Harm and Mac seemed to notice everything about her and Bud's relationship. Why couldn't they have done the same?

Harriet jumped slightly, startled from her thoughts by the ringing of the phone. Bud stirred slightly against her. "Go back to sleep," she encouraged him, knowing that he'd had a little too much to drink at the bachelor party for a wedding which would now never happen. "I'll get it."

She reached over him for the phone, wondering who would be calling them in the middle of the night. She hoped nothing was wrong with her parents or with Mikey out on the _Wake Island_ …. or even with her father-in-law. She did not like the man – or the way he treated his sons – but he'd come through for Mikey in Mexico and even Bud, who hardly ever talked about his father, had expressed gratitude for his help. "Hello," she said hesitantly into the phone.

"Harriet, um, it's Admiral Chegwidden," A.J. said. As much as he did not want to pass this news on to either of them, he'd been hoping to get Bud, wanted to tell him first so that Bud could hold his wife and comfort her as he told her the news about their friend. He didn't know how to tell Harriet, didn't know if he could take her reaction. Then again, he thought, remembering finding Bud in the darkened JAG building the night baby Sarah had died, he didn't know how he could be the one to bring either of them such news. He'd watched both of them grow so much in the nearly five years he'd known them and he couldn't care for them more if they were his flesh and blood.

"Admiral?" Harriet echoed, surprised by his use of her first name. Although it was rare, they'd been woken up in the middle of the night before for JAG business. But it was usually either Harm or Mac calling. But Harm was still on his way back from the Patrick Henry and Mac was supposed to be on leave for the next two weeks – at least of far as the Admiral probably knew. "I suppose you need to speak to Bud."

A.J. sighed heavily, shaking his head, even though she couldn't see the gesture. "No," he said quietly, surprising Harriet even more with the uncharacteristic tone of his voice. The last time she'd heard him sound like that had been when Sarah …. when he'd tried to comfort them at the funeral …. Oh, God. She shook her head, rubbing her hand over her stomach, trying to dispel the knot tightening there. "Since I've got you on the phone, I will tell you."

He paused to gather his thoughts, something she couldn't recall him doing before – he was always so confident, so sure – and the feeling of dread grew, threatening to overwhelm her. "Sir?" she ask hesitantly, becoming even more sure that she did not want to hear what he was about to say.

"Um, Commander Rabb was flying back to Norfolk when his Tomcat went down in a storm about a hundred miles east of Cape Fear, North Carolina," he told her as calmly as he could, knowing no other way to break the news than to just get it out and over with, barely keeping his own emotions in check.

"No," Harriet whispered brokenly, the phone slipping from her hand. She shook her head, praying that she'd wake up and find out this was all a horrible nightmare. "No, no, no, NO!"

"Harriet?" Bud asked sleepily, half awake as he'd listened to her side of the conversation. He pushed himself into a sitting position, gathering her into his arms. "Honey?"

Harriet shook her head, tears falling freely as she pressed her face against his chest, gripping his shoulders tightly as if holding on for dear life. Bud noticed the phone lying between them and, one hand running soothingly up and down her back, he picked up the phone. "Admiral Chegwidden?" he asked, confused, having heard Harriet greet him by rank earlier.

"Bud," A.J. began. Bud found himself suddenly fully awake at the sound of his name, dreading what he was about to hear, what had upset Harriet so much. "Commander Rabb went down in a storm on his way back to Norfolk."

"Commander Rabb?" Bud whispered, incredulous. He hesitated, afraid to ask the question he most dreaded the answer to, but the one he most needed to hear. "Is he ….?"

A.J. knew instantly what Bud was trying to ask. It was the one question he dreaded the answer to himself. "We, um, don't know yet," he replied. "I spoke to the skipper of the Patrick Henry and he said they're launching SAR aircraft towards their last known position. I'm on my way into JAG to wait for word."

"We'll be there in about half an hour," Bud said emphatically, almost daring his superior to suggest otherwise, "um, Sir."

A.J. didn't even try to dissuade him, to suggest that they try to get some sleep and that he would contact them when there was word. He could admit only to himself that, as much as they wanted to be at JAG to wait, he needed them to be there. "The night guard can let you in if I'm not there yet," he said.

Bud's eyes widened as something occurred to him. "Sir, have you called the Colonel yet?" he asked, wondering how she was taking the news.

"Captain Ingles called her personally," he answered. "Apparently, she's still listed one of the Commander's emergency contacts. I haven't spoken to her yet myself."

"Okay," Bud said, not knowing what else to say. He did not envy the person who had to break this news to her. What was worse, actually watching someone you loved slip away from you or hearing it second-hand and wishing that you could have been there to do something, as if your presence might have made a difference?

"Bud, the Commander …. Harm will make it through this," A.J. said with a confidence he wasn't entirely sure he felt. Sure the man had the devil's own luck, but how long until that luck ran out?

"Thank you, Sir," Bud replied softly, not quite sure he could believe that, but needing the reassurance nonetheless. Neither man knowing what else to say, they hung up. Bud dropped the phone back onto the bed and wrapped his other arm around his wife, burying his face in her hair, unable to stop the tears from falling. He hadn't felt this lost, this helpless since Sarah.

Suddenly, Harriet pulled away, her eyes wide. "Oh, my God," she exclaimed. "The Colonel …. Mac …. what is she going to do, say after everything that's going on …?"

"Harriet!" Bud nearly shouted, incredulous. He stared at her as if he didn't recognize her. "How can you even be worried about the wedding now? Commander Rabb is missing, maybe even …. " he trailed off, unable to complete the thought.

"No, Bud," she countered, gripping his arms. "You don't understand. The Colonel …. Mac, she's been trying to get a hold of Mic. Bud, she is going to call off the wedding. She doesn't love Mic. She's in love with someone else!"

Bud stared at her for a moment before understanding dawned. Everything he'd ever suspected about the often-convoluted relationship between his friends suddenly crystallized into truth. Harriet explained hurriedly, her voice trembling, "Tonight, I went over to her apartment and he called to tell her that he was on his way home for the wedding, but she told him that she was going to call the wedding off. They, um …. " Harriet hesitated, not sure if she could tell even her husband just exactly what had transpired in the last few days. She decided to gloss over that part. "Let's just say they decided that they couldn't ignore certain things anymore. Bud, he was coming home to her and now …." Her voice broke and he pulled her against him again, his own tears falling, his heart breaking for his friends. "Bud, how could this happen? How can fate be so cruel?"

"I wish I knew, baby," he whispered brokenly, unable to answer the questions any more now than he had the first time she'd asked them, several months earlier. "I wish to God I knew."

Harriet broke away again, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand. "We have to go over there," she said, climbing from the bed and going over to the dresser. She opened a drawer and pulled out some sweats, tossing a pair to Bud. "We need to be there for her, the way she was there for us …." She broke off, pressing her palms against the top of the dresser.

Bud got up and walked up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. When she spoke again, her voice was so soft that he could barely hear her. "Bud, do you believe in guardian angels?" she asked.

"Maybe," he replied uncertainly, "I don't know. I don't know what I believe anymore, not since …. "

"I know," she agreed, turning around in his arms, resting her hands on his chest. "But maybe if there are, our little girl is one and she can look out for her godfather and guide him home to everyone who loves him."

"I hope so," he said, smiling wanly. He picked up her sweats off the dresser and handed them back to her. "Get dressed. We'll go over to the Colonel's before we head to JAG. Now, she needs to know that her friends love her and are there to support her."

Harriet managed a half-smile of her own as she nodded. "Bud," she said as he started to turn back to the bed to get dressed. He stopped and looked back at her. "I love you."

"And I love you, honey," he returned. He wanted to say more, wanted to assure her that it would all work out, but if there was nothing else he was sure of in this situation, it was that there was no way he could offer such comfort.

-----

HARM'S APARTMENT  
NORTH OF UNION STATION

The door slowly opened, the dim light from the hallway casting very little brightness into the dark apartment. A woman stood silhouetted in the doorway, her eyes sweeping over the familiar scene as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. If she closed her eyes and believed hard enough, maybe she would open her eyes and find out this had all been a nightmare and that he was there with his familiar grin. Biting her trembling lower lip, she reached to her right and flipped the switch, lighting the empty apartment.

Pushing the door closed behind her, she wandered the room, caught up in all the memories ….

_What do you call this décor?_

_Priority. Finishing my apartment is low on the list._

She stopped at the bookcase, picking up the same photo which had sat there the first day she'd entered the apartment, her fingers tracing the form of the smiling, carefree young boy who had eventually grown into the driven man who'd managed to worm his way into her heart, in spite of all the barriers she'd erected around her heart.

She fought back tears as she studied the picture, remembering the eventual fate of the man in the photograph, so similar to his father's before him. Could fate be that unkind, to take yet another Rabb aviator in the prime of his life? How could his mother handle it if she lost her son after losing her husband? What about his grandmother, who'd already lost her husband and son? When would it stop?

Clutching the picture against her chest, she wandered next to the desk, flipping through the case file sitting on top. The Adamson court-martial. She'd been looking for that file so she could sign off on it. With a rueful chuckle, she noticed that Harm had yet to sign off on it. That man couldn't keep up with paperwork to save his life, she thought. Why should he, when there were far more important, more adventuresome things for him to be doing?

She gazed out the window into the black night. It sounded like the rain had slowed, the storm finally moving past Washington. But he was still out there in it somewhere. Pressing her hand against the cold glass, she remembered another rainy night, another night when she'd stood at this window, staring out into the darkness.

_I expected there to be death when I joined the Marines. Not when I joined JAG. Not like this. It's like everyone around me keeps dying._

"No," she told herself aloud. "He's not dead. He's coming home. In a few days, we'll probably be sitting right here, laughing about how he scared me to death with this latest stunt of his. And after I'm through kicking his six, I'm going to take him in my arms and never let him go."

As she started laughing bitterly at the declaration, a voice inside her head countered. 'You said it yourself,' it said. 'Everyone around you keeps dying. Dalton died because he was involved with you. Chris came back after you and you killed him. Your goddaughter was going to be named after you and what happened to her? Now, Harm was coming home to you and he's gone, too.'

"No," she said, striding over to the bedroom and grabbing a small travel bag from the closet and throwing it on the bed. His usual travel bag was gone, probably sitting at the bottom of the Atlantic, she realized grimly. "He's not dead and he is coming home to me." Grabbing a few essentials that she knew he'd probably need – some boxers, t-shirts, socks and a spare khaki uniform – she quickly packed the bag, carefully folding a t-shirt around the photo of Harm and his father. She wasn't sure why, but she felt compelled to bring the picture with her.

Her eyes caught sight of another picture on top of his dresser and she went over and picked it up, studying the brothers smiling for the camera, remembering the moment she'd snapped the picture before they'd left Chechnya. She could hardly recall seeing Harm so relaxed, so at ease. Most people probably would have been upset, to say the least, at finding out they had an unexpected half-sibling. Somehow, it didn't surprise her that Harm had a rather unusual reaction to the news. Within hours of finding out he had a brother, he'd been doing everything he could to protect Sergei from a potential death sentence. Maybe it wasn't so unusual, not for him anyway. After all, hadn't he risked his career – and his life – to help her and her uncle the day after they'd met and after she'd apparently betrayed him?

She wrapped another t-shirt around the second picture and placed it in the bag. She'd show them to Harm when he was rescued, a reminder of the proud tradition of aviation in his family. She wished there was some way to contact Sergei, to tell him that his brother was in trouble. But even if she could get a message to him somehow, she wondered if it might not be better to let him remain ignorant for now. He'd been a prisoner of the Chechens for five months. Did he really need the added burden of worrying over the fate of his brother when his own future was so uncertain? As an alternative, maybe later she would get Harm to write a letter to Sergei and then she could contact Clay and see if there was some way to pass the letter on. Harm could have the comfort of communicating in some fashion with his brother and Sergei could be reminded that there were people outside the walls of his prison worried about him and praying for his return.

After staring at the open bag for a moment, she went into the bathroom to gather a few toiletries he would probably need. He could probably buy most of the stuff in the ship's store, but she thought he's appreciate having his own things – his razor, his favorite brand of shaving cream and aftershave, his … the thought trailed off as she picked up the hairbrush off the counter, blond hairs stuck in the bristles. She'd almost managed to forget that there was someone else involved – another woman who as of yet had no idea that about the true state of her year-and-a-half long relationship with Harm. She knew that Renee would have had a hard time letting go of him in any case. Now, she didn't even know she had to and she was about to hear, if she hadn't already, that Harm was missing. She felt a flicker of sympathy for the other woman. Much as she didn't really care for Renee, she wouldn't wish what she was about to find out on any woman, not matter what the circumstances.

She rubbed her forehead, staring at her reflection in the mirror hanging above the sink, thinking that she looked like she'd aged ten years in a matter of hours. Just hours earlier, despite the lingering shadow of Mic and her cancelled wedding hanging over her, she'd felt such a sense of peace. For once, her life had seemed to finally make a certain amount of sense. But now ….

_Every time I think I've put the pieces of my life back together, somebody comes along and jumbles them back up._

Brushing away the tears starting to fall, she returned to the bedroom and dropped the things she'd gathered into the bag, zipping it closed. She sank down onto the bed next to the bag, caught up in more memories ….

_The only place that isn't torn up is the, uh, bedroom._

_Works for me._

She'd felt so comfortable that night, sitting on top of the bed, enjoying dinner with her new best friend. It might have felt odd, sharing dinner in the bedroom of a handsome man without the expectation – or pressure – of something more, but it had also felt so good, so right. Not that she hadn't wanted more, she admitted. Even then, so early in their relationship, it had been so simple to imagine what it would have been like to close the few inches separating them. What would have happened if she had? How would their lives have changed?

Shaking the thoughts from her mind, she got up and slung the bag over her shoulder, glancing around the room to make sure she hadn't forgotten anything that she needed to take to him. Struck with inspiration, she walked across the apartment to his desk, searching the drawers until she found his spare set of car keys, realizing that it was possible his keys were at the bottom of the ocean with the rest of his things. His apartment key was taken care of – she'd just return to him the spare key she had, the one she'd just used to let herself in. They'd exchanged them long ago in case of emergencies and, although she supposed they probably should have returned them with everything that had happened between them and others, it had just never seemed right. It had seemed like it would have been so final, like burning a bridge never to be rebuilt. Now, it didn't seem to matter as much any more.

Dropping the keys in the inside pocket of Harm's leather jacket, which she still wore over her uniform, she took another look around and finally satisfied that she had everything he might need, she left, carefully locking the door behind her. She stood in front of it for a long moment, pressing her hand flat against the metal door, overwhelmed for a moment by all the memories. "No," she said, pulling her hand away. He wasn't dead. He would be coming home then they could work on building their relationship, making brand new memories. She had to stop thinking like this.

Steeling herself, she turned and headed for the stairs without a backward glance. She would bring him home and everything would work out. It had to. She would not let herself contemplate any differently.

-----

MAC'S APARTMENT  
GEORGETOWN

Bud knocked on Mac's door while Harriet stood just behind him, gently rocking a dozing AJ in her arms as she hummed 'Brahms' Lullaby'. Bud had suggested making an emergency call to their sitter, but Harriet had refused, insisting that she had to have their son with her. In the end, he'd agreed, realizing that they both needed their little boy's innocent, comforting presence. At least he was still young enough that he wouldn't really understand what was going on around him. "Colonel Mackenzie?" he called, knocking louder. He turned and looked back at his wife with worried eyes.

"Maybe she's in the bedroom or something," Harriet suggested hesitantly, not really sure how Mac would react to this news. She'd never struck Harriet as the type to crawl into bed and cry her eyes out, but she couldn't say for sure. "Maybe she's too upset to come to the door …. or to hear us knocking."

"Maybe," Bud replied, unconvinced. He pulled out his cell phone and hit the speed dial combination for Mac's home phone, hoping that the ringing of the phone might get through to her if she was there. They could hear Mac's phone ringing from the hall and after a few moments, Bud clicked off his phone, shaking his head.

Harriet racked her brain, trying to figure out where their friend might have gone. The Admiral said he hadn't spoken to her yet, according to Bud, so she wouldn't know that everyone would be gathering at JAG to wait for word. Where else could she have gone? What would she do in similar circumstances? "Bud, what if she went over to the Commander's?" Harriet asked excitedly. "Maybe she wanted to be someplace where she could be close to him. It's what I would probably have done."

Bud nodded slowly as he put his phone back in his jacket pocket. "Yeah, maybe she would," he replied. He put has hand on her shoulder and gently rubbed. "Maybe she needed …. Let's go over there. I think I need to go over there."

Harriet nodded, covering his hand with hers. Almost as much as Mac was surely hurting, so was Bud. Harm was like an older brother whom Bud wanted so much to be like, the hero who could do no wrong in his eyes. "I know," she said softly. "I think I need that, too."

-----

HARM'S APARTMENT  
NORTH OF UNION STATION

Fifteen minutes later, they'd made their way across town in the light midnight traffic and were parking outside of the converted warehouse where Harm kept his apartment. The building was dark – hardly surprising at this hour. Harm, obviously, wasn't home and his downstairs neighbor had probably gone to bed long ago.

Harriet was unstrapping AJ from his car seat when Bud suddenly put his hand on her shoulder. "Hold on a minute," he cautioned her as a car pulled into the alley next to the building. "Someone's coming." He wished that he thought to drop his wife and son off at JAG before coming over here. During the day, this was not one of the best neighborhoods to be wandering in. In the middle of the night, it was downright dangerous.

Harriet glanced around him, her hand flying to her mouth as she recognized the car. "Bud, it's, um, Renee," she told him. Bud looked back at her, his concerned expression matching hers. "Bud, what are we supposed to do? The Admiral must have told her what happened to Commander Rabb, but she doesn't know …."

"She won't find out from us," Bud said firmly. "Right now, concentrating on the Commander's safe return is the most important thing. Everything else can work itself out later. She deserves to her about this from him, after all this is over, not now when we don't know what's going to happen."

Harriet nodded her agreement as Renee got out of her car and walked up to them. "Bud, Harriet," she greeted them, her voice hesitant. Harriet handed AJ to Bud and walked up to the other woman, wrapping her arms around her. She genuinely liked Renee and was probably one of the few who knew or understood the depth of Renee's feelings for Harm. Harriet didn't want to see her hurt – although that seemed inevitable – but none of that seemed important now.

"Renee, I'm sorry," Harriet whispered. She pulled back, brushing away more tears. "There are a lot of people who love the Commander and are praying for him."

"I know," Renee replied. She waved her hands, frustrated. She couldn't remember ever feeling so powerless. She was a woman used to taking action. "I don't understand, Harriet. Why did he go down? What was he even doing flying in this weather?" She looked up at the dark sky. The rain had just stopped falling minutes earlier, but the angry storm clouds were still evident with every flash of lightning.

"We don't even know that he went down because of the storm," Bud tried to explain. "Tomcats are designed to fly through worse than this and Commander Rabb's the best pilot I know."

"When I saw him," Renee continued, trying to control the trembling in her voice, "Wednesday before he left for Norfolk, we talked about him getting back in time to escort me to the wedding. He said …." Her voice trailed off as she remembered their last conversation and her concerns. Suddenly, her expression hardened, her eyes flashing with anger. "He said that he promised her that he'd be back in time for the wedding. He was flying through this weather because she asked him to."

"Um, Renee, we don't know that," Harriet consoled, thankful that she could at least tell the truth about that. She wasn't aware of any promise between Harm and Mac regarding his return in time for the wedding. "Maybe his quals were over and it was just time for him to leave. And he wouldn't have taken off if he hadn't been given clearance by the air boss on the Patrick Henry. Bud and I have both served on carriers. They don't just let their pilots take off, regardless of any promise, unless they believed conditions to be safe. Anyway, we don't even know that he crashed because of the weather. There could have been mechanical problems with the plane. Any number of things could have gone wrong. Let's just concentrate on praying for Commander Rabb right now and let the mishap investigators determine the cause of the crash when the time comes."

Renee's expression softened and she nodded. "Thank you, Harriet," she said. She looked back and forth between them, puzzled. "So what are you guys doing here?"

Bud and Harriet looked at each other, at a lost for words. They couldn't exactly tell her that they'd shown up looking for Mac, not when she seemed so ready to blame Harm's accident on her. "Well," Bud began, searching for the words, "we thought …. um, maybe someone should come get some things for the Commander – after he's rescued, I mean. His travel bag's gone down with the plane and he's going to need clothes and things."

"I hadn't even thought of that," Renee admitted, looking down at the ground. "I just …. when the Admiral called me, he said everyone was saying that they were coming into JAG, but when I got into my car, I just found myself driving here. I don't know. I guess I just wanted to come someplace for a few minutes where I could feel close to him, close to Harm Rabb, the person, not the Navy Commander."

"Um, Renee, why don't we let Bud go upstairs and get some of the Commander's things together?" Harriet suggested, hoping to stop Renee from going up there. Mac's car was nowhere in sight and the apartment was dark, but she didn't want to take the chance that Mac was around, sitting alone in the dark. Right now, the last thing either woman needed was a confrontation with the other. "Then we were going to stop at Mic's and see if he wants us to drive him into JAG since he's probably in no condition to drive and then we can all go to JAG together to wait for news. Bud, you know where the Commander hides his spare key, don't you?"

Bud shot Harriet a questioning look. They hadn't said anything about going over to Mic's, although he realized it probably wasn't a bad idea. Sooner or later, Mic would find out that Mac couldn't be found and if he was at JAG, surrounded by people, maybe it would help temper his reaction. Finally, he nodded. He could gather a few things for Harm and look for Mac at the same time while keeping Renee out of it. "Yes, I do. Wait in the car and lock the doors," he cautioned. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

After Bud went into the building, Harriet strapped AJ back into his car seat then she and Renee climbing into the minivan, locking the doors behind them. The two women looked at each other uncertainly for a moment before Renee finally spoke. "Do you really think he'll be alright?" she asked, her tone nervous.

"Renee," Harriet said with a reassuring tone, trying to convince herself as much as Renee, "the Commander's been in a lot of, um, tight situations before and he's always come through. Remember when he almost drowned last year on that destroyer? He came through that okay. And he was shot down during his first trip to Russia and they, um, he survived that as well. The Commander is a survivor. There's no one better at it that I've seen." She mentally crossed her fingers, hoping Renee hadn't caught her slip about Russia. She didn't really think it was the time to explain about some of the things that Harm and Mac had been through together.

"I just," Renee began, blinking back tears, "um, when I first met Harm and found out how he'd been a combat pilot, then became a lawyer, I thought he was larger than life. His career sounded like some great big adventure, like in the movies. Then I got to know the man behind the uniform …. You know, I've heard about some of the things he's been through – not from him, of course. At times that man can be tighter lipped than a clam. But hearing about them and then actually having something happen …. Harriet, I don't know what I'll do if I lose him."

"I don't know what any of us will do," Harriet admitted softly, her voice breaking. She was trying so hard not to think about that possibility, but how could she not? "He's been there for Bud and me so many times in the past. He helped Bud and I get together, was best man at our wedding, godfather to our children and he was there for us when Sarah died. If I'd had a brother, I would have wanted him to be just like Commander Rabb. And Bud feels the same way. He's one of the most loyal, devoted friends anyone could ever hope to have."

Renee reached over and patted her on the arm. "I know," she replied sadly. "It's one of his best qualities. I just wish …." She was interrupted when the driver's door opened and Bud got into the car, tossing a paper grocery bag onto the floor behind his seat.

"I couldn't find a travel bag," Bud explained, gesturing towards the bag. "So I just tossed some things into a grocery bag and brought them down." He'd noticed some items missing from the apartment and suspected that someone – most likely Mac – had already been there and gotten some things for Harm. He couldn't very well come down with nothing, since he'd gone upstairs ostensibly for just that reason, so he'd improvised.

"Harm has two travel bags that he uses," Renee commented speculatively. "I watched him pack, so I know he only took one with him this trip."

"Maybe it's still sitting in the back of his car from a previous trip," Harriet suggested, sensing that this was a potentially dangerous topic of discussion from the look Bud was shooting her. Time to change the subject. "Renee, why don't you ride with us over to Mic's and then to JAG? You're upset and maybe you shouldn't be driving."

"I don't …. sure, I guess so," Renee agreed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "To be honest, I don't really remember driving over here. One minute, the Admiral was telling me …. then I was here and you were here."

Harriet reached behind her and gripped Renee's hand. "You need to be with friends right now," she said comfortingly. "We all do. That's what will get us through this."

-----

MIC'S APARTMENT  
WASHINGTON DC

Once again, Bud and Harriet, again carrying AJ, were standing in front of someone's apartment door, this time with Renee, who hadn't wanted to sit in the car. She needed to do something, even if it was telling Mic what happened. If she could do something, then maybe she wouldn't think so much about how her life was falling apart. Bud pounded loudly on the door, shouting Mic's name. He knew Mic was there – being in no condition to go anywhere.

After a moment, during which a neighbor had stuck his head out the door to see what the commotion was about, Mic finally opened the door dressing in only a pair of pants, running a hand through sleep mused hair. "Bloody hell, what …. " he trailed off when he managed to focus on Harriet's and Renee's tear-stained faces in the bright light from the hallway, on the look of despair in Bud's eyes. His first thought was of his fiancée. "Sarah?"

Bud slowly shook his head. "No, the Colonel's, um, fine as far as we know," he replied. He glanced behind him at the nosy neighbor. "Can we come in? We probably shouldn't do this in the hall."

Mic pulled the door open, motioning them in. He closed the door behind them, his hand on the door knob as if it was the only thing holding him up. "What's going on?" he demanded in a slightly slurred voice.

Harriet sniffled, drawing Bud's attention. He pulled her against his side, an arm draped over her shoulders. Renee looked at them, then back at Mic. "Mic, there was an accident," she said, her voice trembling. She crossed her arms over her chest, gripping her arms to stop her hands from doing the same. "Harm …. he was on his way home and his plane went down in the ocean …. they're looking for him …."

"Oh, blimey," he whispered, placing his hand on her arm. "Renee, I don't know what to say." He looked at Bud, who was whispering words of comfort to his wife. "Does Sarah know yet?"

Bud and Harriet looked at him and nodded. "When the Admiral called us," Bud explained, "he said the Colonel had already been notified. I assume she's on her way to JAG. Everyone's kind of planning to meet there to wait for word."

Mic reached for a box of tissues on the coffee table, holding the box out for Renee and Harriet, both of whom took a handful of tissues. "Renee, I'm sure he'll be fine," he told her, trying to sound confident. He wasn't sure of situations like this, but going down in an ocean in the spring in the middle of a storm couldn't be promising as far as survivability. "Rabb's a survivor."

"That seems to be the general consensus," Renee said quietly.

Mic attempted a smile and patted Renee's arm. "I'll get dressed and go into JAG with you," he said. "I want to be with Sarah. I can't believe this. Tomorrow is supposed to be …."

Harriet managed to stifle her look of alarm at the mention of the wedding. "Um, Mic, maybe you should bring your information on the wedding arrangements to JAG," she suggested hesitantly. She shrugged helplessly. "In the morning, we can help you start calling to, um, cancel everything. It would give us something to do."

Mic looked startled, having not thought beyond comforting Mac. "Yeah, I guess," he replied reluctantly. "I need to talk to Sarah, see if we can come up with a date to reschedule everything for."

"I guess that would be best," Harriet answered carefully. She bit her lower lip and looked at Bud, unsure what else to say.

"Look, we want to get over to JAG as soon as possible," Bud jumped in. "The Admiral is going there to wait for news after he contacts everyone and …."

"Right," Mic said, nodding. "I'll go get dressed then."

After he'd left the room, Harriet motioned Bud aside, out of earshot of Renee. "What are we supposed to do?" she asked, patting AJ's back soothingly as he began to stir in her arms. "Apparently, the Colonel wasn't able to get a hold of him. He thinks that he'll just talk things over with her and they'll have the wedding another time. And Renee – she's so devastated about what is happening to the Commander. Bud, what if the Colonel's not at JAG?"

He glanced over at Renee, who had gone across the room to stare out the large picture window with its view of the Capitol Dome. "I don't know, honey," he admitted in a low voice. "All we can do right now is to keep quiet. It's not our place to tell them anything. He's got to be okay, and then he and the Colonel can straighten anything out when this is all over."

-----

JAG HEADQUARTERS  
FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA

The first thing that struck Harriet as they entered JAG headquarters was how eerily quiet it was. She was used to being here in the middle of the day, when the building was bustling with activity. Usually, she had to dodge others walking through JAG's halls. Now, the hallway was empty except for Carolyn, Jackie and Alan standing in front of the elevator, conversing while they waited.

"The Admiral brought me back from Spain to handle that case," Carolyn said ruefully. "The damned man broke out of the brig and went God only knows where. When he turned himself in, he wouldn't listen to my defense strategy and told me that I was fired. I wanted to strangle the man, but I was glad that he got off. I felt so bad afterwards. I can't believe I never thought of the angle that the Colonel used."

Alan chuckled softly, and then stopped, glancing at the floor. He couldn't believe he felt like laughing at a time like this. "Believe me, I was glad to lose that case," he admitted. "God knows that I never really wanted to go after one of our own." He heard footsteps approaching and looked back, nodding towards them. "Bud, Harriet, Mr. Brumby, Ms. Peterson."

"Hi, Commander," Harriet said, "Mrs. Mattoni, Commander Imes."

Everyone looked at everyone else, not quite sure what to say, how to offer comfort. They were saved by the ding of a bell as the elevator doors slide open before them. With a collective shrug, they stepped onto the elevator, silent on the ride up to Ops. As the stepped into the bullpen on the second floor, they found Gunny and Tiner leaning over Gunny's desk, fiddling with a phone. Loren walked into the bullpen, carrying three mugs of coffee, setting two of them down in front of the two enlisted men. Loren looked over and smiled weakly at the newcomers.

"I've got some coffee going in the kitchen," she informed them, shrugging as she sipped her own beverage. "I think there's some tea also and some bottled water in the fridge. Can I get anyone anything?"

"Has there been any word yet?" Renee asked, ignoring the question for the moment. Loren shook her head.

"The Admiral just got here and went immediately into his office to contact Commander Rabb's parents and grandmother," she replied, leaning against a desk. "Gunny suggested getting a speakerphone set up with a shore to ship line so we can monitor the rescue efforts. I'm sure he'll be fine, Ms. Peterson. He's got a lot to live for."

"Thank you," Renee whispered. "I think I will have some of that coffee."

"Bud, why don't you take AJ and I'll help Loren," Harriet suggested, handing her son off. She needed something to do to keep busy. "Anyone else?" Mic, Bud and Alan all put in requests for coffee, Jackie for tea and Carolyn for water. She and Loren started to head towards the kitchen when A.J. stepped out of his office, dressed casually in khakis and a sweater, ten pairs of eyes turning to him expectantly.

"Gunny? Tiner?" he asked, nodding towards the phone.

"Just about got it set up, Sir," Tiner replied.

"Sir, would you like anything from the kitchen?" Harriet asked.

"No thanks, Lieutenant," he replied. "I've already got some coffee."

Harriet nodded and continued to the kitchen with Loren. Everyone else took up positions at the desks scattered through the bullpen. Gunny and Tiner continued working on the phone. Alan sat down behind another desk, Jackie perched on top of it, clasping her husband's hand tightly. Bud sat down at Harriet's desk, rocking his half-asleep son. Carolyn sat at another desk, nervously twirling a pencil between her fingers. Mic approached A.J., Renee hovering behind him. "Sir, I'm concerned about Sarah," he said. He shrugged helplessly. "Have you spoken to her? No one seems to know where she is. I expected her to be here."

"Uh, Captain Ingles called the Colonel and informed her about what happened," he answered, crossing his arms across his chest. "I haven't spoken to her personally …."

"Excuse me," Renee interrupted, "why would they be calling Mac? She's not – I mean, she's just a friend."

A.J. sighed. This was not a topic he wanted – or needed - to get into right now. "Several years ago," he patiently explained, "the Commander and Colonel put each other down as POC in case of emergency. They apparently never changed that."

Mic and Renee looked at each other, neither happy, but both knowing that this wasn't the time to discuss it. "Oh," Renee said, glancing away.

"Maybe Sarah went to see Chloe," Mic suggested, surprised he hadn't thought of it before. "The girl is rather found of Rabb."

A.J. looked startled. "I don't think anyone else has even thought to contact her," he said. He motioned to Harriet reentering the bullpen with Loren. "Lieutenant, do you know where the Colonel's sister is staying?"

"Oh, my God, Sir," she exclaimed, setting down the mugs she was carrying on a nearby desk before she dropped them. "I didn't even think of that. I believe they're staying at the Holiday Inn outside the gate at Andrews."

A.J. nodded to Gunny, who was already picking up a phone, dialing information for the number. A few minutes later, he held out the phone to A.J.. "They're connecting you to Chief Anderson's room," Gunny told him.

"Hello?" Kyle said sleepily, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"Chief Anderson, this is Admiral Chegwidden at JAG," A.J. said. "You know Commander Rabb?"

"I've met him," Kyle replied, glancing at the other bed, where Chloe had stirred at the sound of the phone ringing. "My daughter speaks very highly of him."

"The Commander was involved in an accident on his way back to Washington from the carrier Patrick Henry," A.J. continued. "He is believed to have gone down about a hundred miles east of Cape Fear."

"How bad?" Kyle asked, his eyes on his daughter.

"Dad, what's wrong?" Chloe asked, pushing her covers back and moving to sit on the edge of his bed. He held up a hand to motion to her to wait.

"The Henry has sent out SAR," A.J. replied, "but the weather's bad and …." He left the rest unspoken, knowing the veteran Chief would understand. "I wanted to let you know so you can tell Chloe. If you need anything, most of the staff is gathering at JAG headquarters. You can reach us there. I believe your daughter knows the number."

"Thank you, Admiral," Kyle said. "We'll be praying for everything to work out." He hung up the phone and slid over on the bed, pulling Chloe against his side.

She looked up at him with wide, frightened eyes. She couldn't imagine why her father would be talking to an Admiral in the middle of the night, but it could only be bad news. "Dad, what happened?"

Kyle rubbed her arm, wishing that she'd slept through the phone, wishing he didn't have to tell her just now that a dear friend of hers was fighting for his life. "Um, honey, that was Admiral Chegwidden," he began.

"Mac?" she asked fearfully, tears springing to her eyes.

Kyle shook his head sadly, tightening his arms around her. "No, not Mac," he replied. "Commander Rabb."

"Daddy?" she pleaded, tears streaming down her cheeks. "What happened to Harm? He was supposed to be coming home from the carrier tonight."

"I know, sweetie," he said, stroking her hair. "The Admiral said he went down in the ocean. Search and rescue teams are looking for him now."

"No," Chloe cried, burying her face against his t-shirt. She shook her head as more tears fell, thinking of all that had happened between Harm and Mac the last few days and all that was supposed to be happening for them in the future. "It's not fair."

"I know, baby," he said, remembering his own friends and shipmates dying aboard the _Stark_, the day Chloe had been born. Death was an unfortunate part of military life, but that didn't make accepting or dealing with it any easier. And God knew he would have done anything to spare his daughter the anguish of learning that lesson. "But the rescue teams know what they're doing. They'll find him."

"In the middle of the ocean?" she asked, pulling back to look her father in the eyes, seeking the truth.

"It's what they're trained to do," he pointed out, far from certain himself. He hadn't been around aircraft operations all that much, but he knew the odds couldn't be too good.

"Dad, we have to go see Mac," Chloe burst out suddenly. "She and Harm are …. they …."

"She's probably at JAG," he said gently. "Admiral Chegwidden said everyone was gathering there to wait for news."

"Daddy, please," she pleaded. "We have to go to JAG. Mac needs me. She and Harm …. " she broke off, leaning against his chest again, wiping her tears away with her fingers.

Kyle sighed, knowing that there was no way they'd be getting any sleep tonight. He knew, both from his parents and from Chloe, that she talked about Harm almost as much as she did about Mac. "Okay," he acquiesced. "Get dressed and we'll head over there."

Chloe pulled out of his arms, and then stopped, staring at him intently. "Daddy, will Harm be okay?" she asked, her voice quiet and shaking.

Kyle opened his mouth to reply, but couldn't make himself lie to his daughter, offering assurances that he knew could very well turn out to be false ones. His heart broke as Chloe bowed her head, her body shaking with sobs. He pulled her back into his arms, trying to comfort her.

"God, why now?" she whispered brokenly, thinking again of Mac and Harm and all the hope for the future she had for them. "This can't happen to them."

-----

Just after A.J. hung up the phone, it rang again. He picked it up himself. "JAG Ops," he said, "Admiral Chegwidden."

"Admiral, it's Frank Burnett," Frank said with a weary sigh. Ever since A.J.'s earlier call, to inform them of the accident, he and Trish had both been running around making hasty travel arrangements. It was the first time he'd had a moment to stop and think about what was happened to their family again. "I wanted to let you know that Trish and I will be taking off from San Diego within the hour. That should put us at Reagan National at about seven thirty."

"I'll have someone at the airport to pick you up and bring you to JAG," A.J. offered.

"Thank you, Admiral," Frank said. He looked down at his desk in front of him, staring at a photo taken the day Harm had graduated from the Academy. It was one of the few he had of himself, Trish and Harm together and had only been taken at the insistence of Harm's grandmother. "On that other matter we discussed, Trish and I talked about it and we don't want to contact Harm's grandmother until morning. She'd want to come to Washington and we don't want her to drive in the middle of the night. Honestly, we're worried about her making the drive in the morning, but Sarah Rabb's a very determined woman."

"I can see if one of my people will drive up to Pennsylvania," A.J. suggested, realizing that he probably wouldn't have a problem with volunteers. Most of them would probably be grateful for something to do. "She lives just outside of Pittsburgh, right? It's about three and a half, four hours up there. Someone can leave soon and be there first thing in the morning and bring Mrs. Rabb back to Washington."

"Thank you, again," Frank said. "Trish and I are both worried about Sarah. She's lost both her husband and son and we had that scare with Harm ten years ago. Not to mention the fact that her other grandson has been sitting in a POW camp for the last five months."

"I understand," A.J. replied, realizing that he hadn't thought about Sergei. He knew that being in a Chechen POW camp was no guarantee that Sergei wouldn't hear the news. It was pretty much common knowledge now that Sergei's father was an American and it wasn't beyond the realm of possibility that one of his captors would taunt him with the news that his brother had gone down in a crash. He should probably put in a call to Clay, although it was possible the spy had already heard the news through other means.

"We'll see you later, Admiral," Frank said, disconnecting the call. A.J. looked over the bullpen, everyone watching him except Gunny and Tiner, who were huddled together in conference. Feeling A.J.'s eyes on them, they both looked up and straightened in their chairs.

"Sir, the link to the _Patrick Henry_ is set up," Gunny informed him. "Tiner and I request permission to drive to Pennsylvania to pick up the Commander's grandmother."

A.J. nodded permission. "Take a cell phone with you for updates," he ordered. "The Commander's personnel folder is on Tiner's desk – his grandmother's address is in it."

"Yes, Sir," they both replied, Gunny scooping up his car keys and cell phone before hurrying out with Tiner on his heels while A.J. went back into his office.

Settling into his chair with a sigh, A.J. flipped through his Rolodex, looking for Clay's phone number. It was one rarely used, the unspoken understanding being that contact was to be kept to a minimum. But even if Sergei hadn't been a consideration, A.J. figured that Clay would want to know.

"Hello," Clay snapped into his phone after picking up on the second ring, having read the number off the Caller ID. "What can I do for you, A.J.?"

A.J. didn't bother wasting time with small talk. "Rabb's Tomcat went down tonight in the Atlantic Ocean," he said. "His whereabouts are unknown. Is there any way you can get a message into the prison camp where Sergeant Zhukov is being held?"

Clay snorted, forcing down his automatic concern for his friend. "You want me to get a message into a prison camp in Chechnya?" he asked, incredulous.

"Come on, Webb," A.J. countered shortly. "This would seem to be rather easy to accomplish for you. I don't want some sadistic captor using this news against the kid. Who knows what they'll tell him about Rabb."

Clay was silent for a moment, considering, and then said, "Major Sokol has a few contacts that he uses to keep an eye on Sergei's condition, goes to the highest bidder types. He can probably get a message in through one of them."

"Fine," A.J. said. "The message is simply to say that Rabb went down and search and rescue teams are out looking for him. We'll pass on more when we know it."

"Understood," Clay replied, remembering another crash, yet another dire circumstance. The Russians had sworn, practically on a stack of Bibles, that Harm and Mac had been killed after flying into a flock of geese. But this time, there was no sometimes hostile foreign government covering their rears. That had been easier, believing the Russians had lied and working to prove that. He hated the situations when all you could do was sit and wait for word. That wasn't how he operated and he knew that wasn't how A.J. operated either. Unconsciously, he rubbed his nose, feeling a phantom ache from being broken, a victim of A.J.'s need to act. "A.J. …."

"Yes, Clay?" A.J. asked, knowing what the other man was probably about to say. Clay did have his moments sometimes.

"I hope Rabb will be fine," he said simply. He didn't know what else to say.

"So do I, Webb," A.J. admitted, not sure why he did. But Clay was probably one of the few he would admit something like that to. Maybe they'd been through too many ops together, knew each other too well after five years. Under other circumstances, A.J. might have laughed in disbelief at the realization and so might have Clay. Now, it was just a wrenchingly honest assessment of the situation.

-----

To be continued…


	4. Chapter 4

APPROX 100 MILES EAST OF CAPE FEAR, NORTH CAROLINA

Within seconds after his chute opened, Harm realized he was in trouble. Somehow, the lines had gotten tangled, one caught under his chin. His hands shaking in the cold wind, he fumbled with the clasp of his oxygen mask and helmet, finally yanking them open and pulling his helmet off, tossing it away.

He tried pulling at the chute line around his neck, but the strong wind was pushing on the chute, pulling the line taunt. If he unbuckled the chute from his harness just before he hit the water, tangled up in the lines as he was, it might pull him down with it. He couldn't reach the utility knife in the pocket on his right pant leg, having no leverage to pull his leg up so he could reach the knife, so his only hope was to go for the knife as quickly as he could once he hit the water and to cut the lines.

Concentrate, he told himself. Ignore everything but survival. Ignore the wind, the cold, and the angry swells. Focus on staying alive and getting out of this. Someone had to have heard their mayday. Word would be passed and either the Patrick Henry or the Coast Guard – or both – would have rescue craft in the air as soon as possible.

As soon as his feet hit the water, he could feel the intense cold, even through his insulated flight suit, but he forced himself to block out the sharp sensations of thousands of knives biting into him. Survival. That was what he had to think about. As he slid into the water, his chute billowing behind him, he pulled up his leg and tugged on the zipper of the pocket, quickly pulling out the small knife and snapping it open. Grabbing the lines in one hand, he sawed through them as fast as he could, a job made more difficult by his rapidly chilling fingers and the wet ropes. Finally, he got through the ropes on his left side and went to work on the right. Once he cut through them, he took in a deep, gulping breath as the pressure on his throat was released, only to be confronted with another problem.

As the ropes fell away into the water, several got wrapped around his right calf, pulling him under the surface as he opened his mouth to take in another breath, the salt water burning his throat as he swallowed water instead of air. Fighting against the ropes pulling him down, he bent over as far as he could and hacked at the ropes. After a moment's struggle, he managed to saw through them, dropping the knife as he fought his way to the surface, pulling the tab to inflate his life vest.

Breaking the surface of the water, he coughed and sputtered, trying to expel the water he'd taken in while drawing in life-sustaining air, his chest tightening as he struggled to breathe, the effort almost painful in the frigid rain. A swell crashed over him and he quickly closed his mouth, but not before he swallowed more water. Coughing the salty liquid up, he turned his head, searching for the life raft, spotting it about ten yards away.

Just thirty feet. Forcing his arms and legs to move, refusing to give into the cold, he slowly swam against the current towards the only shelter he had. He'd managed to make it a little more than half the distance when a swell rose up over him. Quickly, he held his breath, this time managing not to take in any water. When he broke the surface again seconds later, he'd lost about half the distance he'd gained. Gathering up his strength, he started making his way towards the raft again. He shivered inside his flight suit. It would be so easy, too easy to just give up and ….

Mac's face formed in his mind, her warm smile calling to him. He couldn't give up. He had too much to live for, someone to go home to. After five years, after more twists and turns than he wanted to remember, they were finally going to make things right between them. Steeling his resolve, he pushed himself harder. He would make it. He had to.

Another swell crashed over him and when his vision cleared again, he bit back a curse as he spotted the raft being carried away on a swell. 'God, please give me the strength,' he prayed fervently, like he'd prayed for little in his life, except for a successful end to his quest to learn his father's fate. 'Please help me to get back to her. I have to tell her. She has to know how much I love her.'

-----

I-95  
NORTH OF RICHMOND, VIRGINIA  
AN HOUR LATER

Mac's knuckles were bone white as she gripped her steering wheel, speeding over the rain slicked highway, driven by one thought – getting to Norfolk. If she'd been in the mood, she might have laughed at the symmetry. Just two nights earlier, she'd been racing over these same roads, again desperate to reach Norfolk, even if it had been an unconscious thought at first. That night, she'd been speeding towards Harm and the few stolen hours of passion they'd managed to find. Tonight, she was heading into the unknown.

She kept telling herself that he would soon be back in her arms, but the logical Marine in her knew the odds. It was the middle of the night, the water was cold and it was storming. If one aircraft could go down in this weather, others could to, making conditions extremely dangerous for those tasked with trying to find two officers lost in the middle of the vast ocean.

For some inexplicable reason, she suddenly realized that she'd just driven past the spot where she'd pulled off the road two nights ago, tormented by the visions of Harm on a nineteenth-century Naval vessel, the same dream which had awoken her just before the phone call from Captain Ingles. She shivered …. no, it couldn't mean what she was thinking. It wasn't prophetic. It couldn't be. Harm was alive. SAR would find him and he would come home to her.

Flexing her fingers, relaxing her vise-like grip on the wheel, she took a calming breath, trying to focus on happier thoughts – like the feeling of his warm embrace or that dazzling, melt your bones grin of his that quickened the pulse of any woman lucky enough to be on the receiving end of the expression. She remembered the day he'd taken her flying the first time, before it had all gone south, the joy in his voice, and the freedom in his bearing. That was probably the happiest she'd ever seen him.

She tried to hold that image in her mind as she turned on the radio, seeking something to keep her mind off …. other thoughts. The station she usually listened to in DC had already faded to static, so she pressed the seek button until she tuned into a station in the middle of a song, Atlantic Starr's 'Secret Lovers'.

With a bitter laugh, she pressed the button again, searching for another station. Just what she needed, a song to remind her of the mess she'd left behind in Washington. She almost wished that Mic was passed out drunk after his bachelor party. Then he wouldn't know that she was gone, know that she was on her way to another man. And Renee …. Mac almost felt sorry for her. She was probably devastated by Harm's crash, if she even knew yet, unaware that she wasn't the one he'd been returning to.

She found another station – oldies this time – and left the radio tuned there, swaying slightly to the upbeat rhythm of The Beatles' 'I Saw Her Standing There', humming with the music. Better. Not quite as distracting as she'd hoped, but that was probably a lost cause. There was nothing that was going to make her forget the man struggling out in the middle of an angry ocean, the man with whom she'd had so many lost chances. They finally had a chance to make the right choices and now it was all hanging by a very precarious thread.

'Please, God,' she thought, praying as she never had before in her life. She'd never really seen the point. Prayers didn't come true for people like Sarah Mackenzie. Praying hadn't made her father sober or less abusive. Praying hadn't brought her mother back. But right now, she'd do anything, pray to God or make a deal with the Devil if that's what it took. Never before had she wanted anything more than the life of one man. Never before had anything been so important to her. 'I'll do anything if you'll just look out for him and keep him safe. Please. There's so much I have to tell him. I promise I won't waste any more time. As soon as I see him, I'll tell him that I love him. Please just give me the chance.'

-----

SOMEWHERE IN MARYLAND

"We all heard the shots, even the Admiral in his office," Tiner said. They'd traveled in near-silence since they'd left DC, but Tiner decided to break the monotony by telling stories about Harm in an effort to keep both himself and Gunny – who was driving – awake. "He came rushing out and started ordering us to evacuate the bullpen. We had no idea what was going on. Then people came out of the courtroom, these kind of dazed looks on their faces, and the Admiral got this look on his face like 'What the hell is going on?' Then Lieutenant Roberts came out and the Admiral pulled him aside and asked him what had happened …. "

He trailed off and looked over at Gunny, who had maintained a stony silence since he'd started the story. "I'm sorry, Gunny," Tiner said. "I can be quiet if …."

"No, it's okay," Gunny assured him, his expression softening almost imperceptibly. "Continue the story."

Hesitantly, he picked up where he'd left off. "Lieutenant Roberts started stuttering something," he continued. "You didn't know him back then, but he could get very nervous. Finally, the Admiral demanded, 'Where the hell are Rabb and Mackenzie?' The Lieutenant mumbled that they were in the judge's chambers. Then the Admiral asked who had fired the gun off in the courtroom. The look on the Lieutenant's face – he turned beat red and I could see him swallowing from where I was standing by my desk. Finally, he mumbled something else that I couldn't hear, but everyone in the building I think heard the Admiral's response."

"What did the Admiral say?" Gunny asked.

"Say?" Tiner repeated. "He yelled at the top of his lungs, 'Commander Rabb? What the hell do you mean Rabb fired off an HNK in the courtroom?' He then got right up in the Lieutenant's face and said, 'You wait for them to come out of chambers. Then you inform Commander Rabb that I want to see him in my office immediately.' He then turned and stormed back into his office. I think the walls shook when he slammed his office door."

"So why did he do it?"

"You mean, why did the Commander fire the weapon off in court?" Tiner asked. At Gunny's nod, he answered, "As I recall, the case involved a SEAL who was accused of killing a fellow SEAL during a mission. The SEAL claimed it was a friendly fire accident; he was going through an Article 32 hearing with the Commander prosecuting. He claimed he'd thrown his weapon away because it had jammed, while the Commander was contending he'd tried to get rid of the murder weapon. According to the officer who'd done the ballistics testing, it hadn't jammed during that testing, but Major Mackenzie pointed out that only one round had been fired during testing and weapons don't usually jam after one round. Rumor is the Commander tried to counter, was cut off by the judge, then decided that a demonstration was in order, so he fired several rounds into the ceiling, enough to prove the weapon wasn't jammed."

Gunny chuckled, "I'd heard that story, but no names were mentioned. It's almost like the stuff of urban legend."

"Oh, it happened," Tiner said. "You could have heard a pin drop in the bullpen when the Commander was in the Admiral's office and we could all hear nearly every word the Admiral said. He yelled at the Commander that Captain Morris wanted him sent to Somalia but the Admiral thought Somalia was letting him off too easy."

"So what happened with the case?" Gunny asked. "Was the SEAL guilty?"

Tiner shrugged, "I guess not, because the next day the Commander dropped all the charges. I never heard why and it's not in the case file, which is unusual. I just know that right after the Admiral went back into his office, a fax came for the Commander. Lieutenant Roberts took one look at the fax and his face went white. He took the fax into the courtroom with him when he went to wait for the Commander and Major to get out of the judge's chambers. But something convinced the Commander that the SEAL wasn't guilty. I've worked in several JAG offices during my time in the Navy and there aren't a lot of prosecutors who would have dropped a case like that, even if they suspected the defendant wasn't guilty."

"The Commander really cares about the truth," Gunny said simply. It hadn't taken him long to figure that out once he'd had a chance to size Harm up. It hadn't taken much longer for him to develop a deep respect for the officer. "When we were in Mexico a few months ago, he knew something was wrong with Petty Officer Roberts' conviction, but we couldn't find anything concrete to prove it. He decided to set up a sting operation using me and the Petty Officer's father. Chief Roberts cozied up to the woman his son had been with the night of the murder and then I pretended to kill the Chief in front of her. It scared her into telling the truth about the scam to frame Navy guys for crimes then have the 'victims' sue the Navy for damages."

The two men fell silent for a moment, then Gunny said, "It's okay, Tin - Jason. I'm worried about him, too. Maybe it helps to remember all the crazy stunts he's pulled before." He used the other man's first name in an effort to put him at ease.

"Or all the situations he's survived," Tiner said. "His first crash – the one that led to him going to law school – is the stuff of legends, too. He was in the Gulf just before Desert Storm started and crashed his Tomcat into the deck of the _USS SeaHawk_. Word was it was a miracle he survived. I looked up the inquiry report once, out of curiosity. Pilot error was the official cause, but because of extenuating circumstances, he wasn't held responsible."

"The night blindness?"

"Yes," Tiner replied. "Anyway, I know from his personnel folder …." He paused, waiting to see if Gunny would say anything about him divulging information from an officer's service record, but Gunny just nodded for him to continue. "Well, there's a gap of about six months between the time of his crash and when he went back on active duty. Medical leave, I assume given the seriousness of the crash. Then he came back and started law school a few weeks later. And he's been in other situations – life or death, I mean. Like when he and the Major went to Russia the first time and were reported to have crashed a MiG-29 after flying into a flock of geese. I guess that's the thing that I keep trying to remind myself of, that the Commander is a survivor if nothing else."

"I agree," Gunny said. "I just …. wish we could do more than pray." It was a hard admission for him to make. As a Marine, he was used to taking action. Sitting around and waiting for word was just not in his nature.

"Yeah," Tiner said softly. "I also wish we didn't have to tell Mrs. Rabb that she might lose her grandson, not after losing her husband and son the way she did."

Gunny turned his head to look at him. "I know about the Commander's father," he said. "I heard about that after what happened with his brother, but what about his grandfather?"

"Shot down during World War II," Tiner explained. "I heard Major Mackenzie and Lieutenant Roberts talking about it once."

"Madre de Dios," Gunny murmured under his breath. "A man shot down in World War II, his son shot down and taken prisoner in Vietnam, one grandson shot down in Russia and taken prisoner and the other grandson lost on the ocean after his second crash. Amable Virgen de Guadalupe, Madre y auxilio de dodos los Christianos desde que te apareciste a Juan Diego en los cerros de Mexico. La pena que me atormenta pongo en tus benditas manos. Acuerdate o Santa Madre que jamas se oyo decir que algunote haya implorado sin tu auxilio recibir, por eso, con fe y confianza, humilde y arrepentido, lleno de amor y esperanza, este favor yo te pido. Amen."

Tiner waited until Gunny finished what he assumed was a Spanish prayer and asked, "What was that?"

"A prayer to the Virgin of Guadalupe," he replied. "My mother used to say this when praying for guidance with a particularly trying situation. Say the prayer, your petition for the Virgin then finish with a Hail Mary. I've been repeating it in my head, but I keep stumbling on the last line of the Hail Mary."

"Which is?" Tiner asked. "I'm not Catholic."

"'Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at …. the hour of our death. Amen.'" Gunny said the final words in a rush, as if by saying them quickly, he wouldn't have to dwell on their meaning in this situation.

"I hope the other prayer has a more pleasant translation?"

"'Dear Virgin of Guadalupe, Mother and help of all Christians since you appeared to Juan Diego in the mountains of Mexico. The problem that torments me I place in your blessed hands. Remember, oh Blessed Mother, that never has it been known that anyone who sought your help was left unaided. With confidence, humble and repentant, full of love and hope, this favor I implore. Amen'," he recited. He continued with the petition he'd been saying in his thoughts since he'd been awakened by the call from the Admiral. "Holy Mother, look out for Commander Rabb and Lieutenant Hawkes and bring them safely home to those who love them. Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen." One hand still on the steering wheel, he crossed himself as he finished the prayer.

"Does it work?" Tiner asked. "I guess I'm not particularly religious."

"When my sister Maria was nineteen," Gunny remembered, "her car was hit by a drunk driver when she was on the way home from a friend's house. My mother wouldn't leave her bedside, alternating between praying to the Virgin of Guadalupe and praying the rosary. My father couldn't even convince her to leave to get something to eat or to sleep, not until the doctor declared that Maria was out of the woods. She told my father that the least she could do for her daughter was to pray for her recovery. 'The doctors use drugs and all these fancy machines to keep our Maria alive,' she told my father. 'That's what they do. I pray. That's what I do.'"

"I wonder what the Colonel's thinking and doing right now?" Tiner said. "I remember the day the Commander left JAG. Everyone was upset, but she …. it was like she'd lost her best friend. They've been through so much together and …. " He trailed off, not sure what else to say. He didn't want to speculate of officers' personal lives, not now when there were more important things to think about at the moment.

"She's frustrated," Gunny stated with the certainty of a fellow Marine used to taking action. "She's a Marine. We don't sit around on our hands and we don't leave one of our own behind."

"When Commander Rabb went to Russia the first time," Tiner related, "the Admiral sent her with him. I processed the leave paperwork for both of them. But I think that if he hadn't suggested it, she would have gone …." He broke off, staring at Gunny, the same thought occurring to both of them at that instant. After a moment, Tiner voiced the thought. "What if the Colonel's trying to find a way out to the Patrick Henry, Gunny?"

"It's possible," he said after a moment's thought. "No one had seen or heard from her when we left JAG, but the Admiral told Mic that she'd been informed by Captain Ingles about the crash." He nodded towards the cell phone, which they'd hooked up earlier to work hands free. "Call JAG, Jason. Maybe we should check in with the Admiral."

Tiner dialed the number and after a moment, Harriet picked up on the other end, her voice containing a barely noticeable tremor as she struggled to remain calm, "JAG Ops, Lieutenant Sims."

"Lieutenant, it's Gunny. I need to speak to the Admiral," Gunny said.

Harriet breathed an audible sigh of relief that it wasn't someone from the _Henry _calling with bad news. "Just a minute, Gunny," she replied. "He's in his office."

After a moment, the Admiral came on the line. "Yes, Gunny?"

"Sir, um," Gunny began, not sure how to put what he was thinking into words given the tangled relationships involved. "Tiner and I were just thinking about Colonel Mackenzie. Sir, what if she's trying to go out to the _Henry_?"

In his office, A.J. leaned back in his chair, remembering just months earlier when Mic Brumby had stood in his office, worried because he hadn't heard from Mac after she'd flown to Russia. She'd disappeared then, too, had ended up following Harm into Chechnya. He'd found out how she'd done so later from Clay – Mac had conveniently left out of her report just how she'd ended up in Chechnya and he'd decided there were some things even he didn't need to know – but had never mentioned it to anyone and he seriously doubted that Mac had ever told Mic the whole story for obvious reasons. "I'll look into it," A.J. said, feeling reasonably sure that Mac was doing exactly what Gunny had just suggested. "Captain Ingles will be calling in a few minutes to patch communications with the rescue aircraft through to us."

"So there's been no word yet, Sir?" Tiner asked.

"No, Tiner," the Admiral replied, his voice heavy. Tiner and Gunny exchanged a look. The Admiral, they knew, was someone else not used to waiting. Both were sure that if A.J. hadn't been at JAG holding everyone else together, he'd be seeking a way out to the carrier. They'd both heard the story of how A.J. had been the one to rescue Harm on the _Suribachi_ after the ship's officers had given him up for dead. A.J. and Mac had been the only ones who'd held fast to the idea that Harm had been still alive.

"Understood, Sir," Gunny said after a long moment.

"Someone will call you if we hear anything," A.J. assured them before hanging up.

-----

A.J.'S OFFICE

As soon as the phone was back on the hook, Harriet was calling him again. "Sir, Captain Ingles is on the phone," she said, transferring the call to him.

"Any word yet, Captain?" A.J. asked without preamble.

"Not yet, Sir," Ingles replied. "The Viking is closing in on their last reported position. We're ready to patch you into our communications."

"Thank you, Captain," A.J. said. "On another matter, you said you were going to speak to Colonel Mackenzie." A.J. hesitated, naturally reluctant to admit in so many words that he couldn't keep track of his people. Then again, Mac was technically on leave and had probably decided – if she was indeed on her way out to the carrier – that she was better off not reporting to him until it was too late for him to stop her. Not that he could have stopped her in any case, he privately admitted, short of throwing her in the brig. "Did she give any indication that she was going to attempt to head for the carrier?"

"Actually, Admiral," Ingles replied, mildly surprised that Mac hadn't informed her commanding officer where she was going, but it wasn't his business to comment on what behavior A.J. would tolerate from his people, "both she and Lieutenant Hawke's fiancé expressed a desire to come out here. They're both probably already on the way to Norfolk. They won't be able to come out here tonight, but if the morning COD from Norfolk is able to take off, they will both be on it, unless you'd like me to contact Norfolk and stop Colonel Mackenzie …."

"No," A.J. said, a bit forcefully. He took a deep breath and continued in a more level tone, but one which passed the message that he would accept no arguments, "Captain, if anyone asks, Colonel Mackenzie has my permission to fly out to the _Henry_, weather permitting. Officially, we can say that she is out there to, um, represent Commander Rabb's interests in any preliminary investigation your on-board JAG staff may conduct." A.J. figured that was a better excuse than trying to explain why someone supposedly on leave for the next two weeks was on her way out to an aircraft carrier in an unofficial capacity.

"Understood, Admiral," Ingles replied.

"Let me transfer you to the speakerphone we set up in the bullpen," A.J. said. He pressed a few buttons to transfer the call then got up to join the rest of his staff. As he opened his office door, he found Harriet on the other side, poised to knock. "Yes, Harriet?"

Harriet smiled a bit at the almost fatherly way he used her name. "Loren and Commanders Imes and Mattoni brought back some food from that all-night diner a few blocks away," she said. "I was just wondering if you'd like me to fix you a plate."

"Thank you, Harriet," he replied, nodding. He started to move around her, but stopped when she didn't move out of his way. "Was there something else?"

Harriet gestured into his office and he stepped back to let her in, closing the door behind her. "Sir, I was just wondering if you'd heard from Colonel Mackenzie," she said. "Bud and I are really worried about her."

A.J. studied her for a moment, and then decided to fill her in. "Captain Ingles informed me that the Colonel requested permission from him to take a COD out to the carrier," he explained. "She's probably on her way to Norfolk to catch the morning COD if there's a break in the weather."

"I guess we should have expected something like this when she wasn't at her place and that stuff was missing from the Commander's," Harriet said, almost in a whisper, clasping her hand over her mouth as she realized what she was saying and to whom she was saying it.

"The Colonel had been to Commander Rabb's?" A.J. asked.

"Yes, Sir," she replied, nodding. "Bud and I tried to contact her and when she wasn't at her place, we decided to try the Commander's. We ran into Renee outside his building, so Bud pretended that we'd gone there to get some things for him when he's rescued. Bud told me later that some of the Commander's things – and his second travel bag – had been missing from the apartment. We assumed that she'd been there. We should have figured out what she was planning, especially …." She trailed off, doubting the wisdom of getting into that subject with him.

A.J. stared at her, sure that she knew something she wasn't telling him. He debated with himself the wisdom of pressing her further. "What about Mic?" he wondered, almost to himself, moving behind his desk to stare out the window at the rain that was beginning to fall again. "He's expecting to get married in the morning and his fiancée's on her way out to an aircraft carrier." He turned back around, realizing he'd come to the root of the situation from the expression on Harriet's face. She was one of the most open people he knew, he reflected, her expression usually showing what she was thinking.

Almost relieved that he seemed to be putting two and two together himself, Harriet explained, the words tumbling from her mouth, "The Colonel decided after speaking to …. well, Sir, she decided to call off the wedding. She'd spent part of this evening after the dinner trying to get a hold of Mic to tell him."

A.J. sighed heavily, not too surprised by the news, just wishing that someone had come to their senses about this situation sooner. It was almost like seeing two trains heading for each other on the tracks. You knew they were going to wreck and there was nothing you could do about it. "And something tells me that Commander Rabb somehow factored into her decision," he said, taking Harriet's silence as confirmation. "I see. Lieutenant, you will forget we even had this discussion."

"Sir?" she asked, puzzled both by the statement and his sudden switch to using her rank.

"Given the circumstances, even if the Colonel were here, it is doubtful that the wedding would have been held this morning anyway," he explained patiently. "For right now, all Mr. Brumby needs to know is that the wedding is delayed given the current situation. He and the Colonel can straighten this out between themselves later."

"Understood, Sir," Harriet said. "Thank you, Sir." She back away, then turned and opened the door, heading back into the bullpen.

"Don't thank me yet," A.J. said to himself. "This whole thing may yet blow up in their faces." He shook his head as he remembered a day nearly five years past.

_Do you two know each other?_

_Yes, Sir._

_No, Sir._

_Of course, I don't know you, Major. I just had a moment of …. déjà vu._

_Must be the uniform._

_Actually, she was in the Navy._

_Don't get too familiar. You've got to work together._

He could almost see the electricity the moment they'd laid eyes on each other. Of course, they hadn't listened when it came to getting too familiar – they'd shortly become best friends, a familiarity which spilled over into the courtroom. Together, it made them a nearly unbeatable team. Their strengths complimented each other and they each made up for the other's weaknesses. As opposing counsel, it made them evenly matched. After that initial case, when they'd almost been nervous about going up against each other, they'd managed to settle down and had gotten good at anticipating the other's moves, making for some interesting battles in the courtroom.

Then they'd lost their rhythm for a while after Harm had returned from flying – around the same time that Mac had gotten closer to Mic and Renee had entered the picture. Although it had gotten better in the last few months, there was still something missing, he thought – or, more accurately, something still coming between them and something told him that things probably would have slid backwards between them had the wedding actually taken place.

This situation had been brewing for a long time and he'd expected it to eventually break. He'd almost thought it would have the night of the engagement party when they'd spent most of the night together on his porch and had barely been able to look each other in the eye when they'd come back inside. But then Mac had thrown herself into preparing that lecture for the Academy – at a time when most brides would have been going crazy with wedding preparations – and Harm had almost seemed happy to get away for his quals the day before the wedding. Almost as if both of them were trying to forget what they thought would never be.

He shook his head as he went out into the bullpen, hoping that Harm and Mac would get the chance to finally set things right between them. He glanced around, noting that most of his people had plates of food in front of them, but they were mostly untouched. There was little of importance coming from the speakerphone, simply routine communications between the carrier and the Viking searching for any sign of Harm and Skates. Everyone seemed to be filling the monotony by telling their own stories about Harm.

"The Admiral held up this newspaper and said that Harm was the only officer he knew with wings and JAG shoulder boards," Carolyn said. "He started swearing that it wasn't him, but Mac and I made a careful inspection of the, um, evidence. Harm gave us the dirtiest look because we were looking at his six."

Carolyn broke off laughing and A.J. noticed Harriet stiffen slightly. He followed her line of sight to Mic and Renee, both of whom were expressing varying degrees up displeasure at the thought of Mac checking out Harm's, um, attributes. Mic noticed A.J.'s scrutiny and gently nudged Renee, both of them relaxing their expressions, pretending to enjoy the story, smiling thinly as Bud piped in.

"I couldn't believe you two had done that in front of the Admiral," he exclaimed with a laugh. A.J. merely smiled. He'd known that it hadn't been Harm in the picture, but he'd had a lot of fun tweaking Harm's nose over the whole thing. Letting Mac and Carolyn have their fun with him had simply been part of that.

"Of course," Carolyn continued, "Mac, Harriet and I got to see for ourselves that Harm was telling the truth when we saw the male stripper who actually had Harm's dress whites at Harriet's bachelorette party."

"I'm sorry Alan and I missed that to attend my sister's wedding," Jackie laughed. "Harriet's wedding sounds a lot more fun than my sister's turned out being."

"And I was TAD when Harriet had AJ in the Admiral's office," Alan added. "Bud told me later about how he'd gotten stuck in the elevator and it looked like Harm and Mac might have to deliver the baby themselves if the Admiral hadn't shown up."

"Do these people know a single story about Harm that doesn't involve Mac?" Renee whispered angrily.

Mic was about to reply when an angry, tearful voice broke in. "What is with all of you?" Chloe demanded, her father putting a restraining hand on her shoulder as they entered the bullpen. "You're all remembering him like he's already dead!"

Harriet was about to get up to comfort Chloe, but Mic quickly crossed the bullpen to offer his own comfort. "It's alright, Chloe," he tried to assure her, reaching out to pull her into his arms. "He's …."

"Leave me alone," she cried, backing into Kyle. "I don't want to be comforted or told it's going to be alright. I just want Harm to walk through that door. I just …. want him …. here."

Harriet now got up and smiled at Chloe the best she could. "And he will be here," Harriet said with a confidence she didn't quite feel. "Search and rescue is closing in on where the plane went down, they'll find him and …."

As Chloe consented to Harriet comforting her, Mic stepped out into the hall, frustrated. Renee followed, deciding that the last thing she needed was to watch Mac's sister cry over Harm. "Mic, are you okay?" she asked hesitantly.

"Damn, Renee," he swore, whirling around to face her. "I'm supposed to be marrying her sister tomorrow and she acts like she doesn't even want to be in the same room with me."

"I'm sure she's just upset because of what's happened," she said lamely.

"Yeah," Mic said bitterly, "and if I were out there in Rabb's place, do you think she'd be as upset? She bloody well thinks Rabb walks on water and I can't compete with that in her eyes."

"You shouldn't have to," Renee said.

"I wonder if she dislikes me because she was hoping Rabb would be her brother-in-law instead," he pondered, running a hand through his hair.

"Mic, don't worry about it," she said, wrapping her arm around his. "When this is all over, you'll marry Mac and that little girl in there won't have a thing to say about it and then I'll just convince Harm that we shouldn't waste any more time after I nearly lost him tonight. Weren't you the one who told me 'No worries, mate'?"

"How can I not worry?" he asked. "My fiancée's gone missing while her …. best friend – " He nearly choked on the words. " – is in dire circumstances."

Unseen by either of them, Chloe and Harriet had stepped out into the hall as well on their way to the ladies' room and had overheard everything they'd just said. Harriet held Chloe back until Mic and Renee had gone back into the bullpen.

"I hate this," Chloe said. "They're acting like everything's going to go on as before once Harm is rescued."

"I know," Harriet said. "Mac apparently wasn't able to get in touch with him before she …."

"Before she what?" Chloe asked.

Harriet glanced around to make sure no one was around who might overhear them, as they'd just overheard Mic and Renee, then replied, "The Admiral found out from Captain Ingles that Mac's on her way to Norfolk. If the weather clears, she's going to the _Patrick Henry_ on a COD in the morning."

"She's going out …." Chloe started, forgetting to keep her voice down until Harriet clamped her hand over Chloe's mouth. She nodded and when Harriet pulled her hand away, continued in a softer voice, "She's going out to the carrier and the Admiral knows?"

Harriet nodded. "I told him what's going on," she said, "and we agreed to keep quiet about the cancelled wedding until Mac can talk to Mic himself. Harm and Mac need to talk to Renee and Mic in person. This isn't something they need to hear second-hand."

"I guess," Chloe agreed reluctantly, how Mic and Renee would take the news far from being a priority for her. "I just hate watching them carry on like Mac's still going to marry Mic and that …. blond witch is going to talk Harm into marrying her."

"I know, but there's nothing …." she broke off when she caught sight of her son toddling out of the bullpen towards her. "AJ, I thought Daddy put you down to sleep?" Not long after they'd arrived, AJ had started to fall back asleep and Harriet had retrieved his car seat from the minivan, Bud setting him in it next to her desk. Bud must not have strapped him into the seat, she realized, and AJ has decided to wander when he'd woken up.

"Not sleepy," he insisted even as he yawned widely.

He held out his arms to her, but before she could pick him up, Chloe asked, "Can I take him?"

Harriet nodded and let Chloe pick AJ up and settle him into her lap, AJ readily accepting the change. Harriet smiled as Chloe seemed to relax with the little boy in her arms. He had that affect. She'd really noticed it first after she'd lost Sarah. So young and innocent and so unaware of all the turmoil around him, he'd been his parents' only comfort when they'd had such a hard time reaching out to each other.

Chloe held AJ close to her and gently rocked him, resting her chin on top of his head. "Once upon a time," she whispered, "there was a beautiful princess named Sarah. Princess Sarah had a very hard life and she didn't really believe in love. But then she went to a Rose Garden and met a handsome prince named Harm …."

Harriet smiled at the fairy tale rendering of the familiar story of Harm and Mac's first meeting, which Bud had once related to her, ruffling AJ's hair with her fingers as his eyelids grew heavy, lulled back into sleep by Chloe's soft voice. How appropriate, she thought as Chloe continued the story. If anyone deserves the fairy tale ending, she thought, it's Harm and Mac.

-----

To be continued…


	5. Chapter 5

Everyone had pulled their chairs up or were standing around Gunny's desk, where the speakerphone had been patched into the communications link between the Patrick Henry and the rescue aircraft. So far, all that they'd heard had been static occasionally broken by routine commands and reports.

The static was broken once again. "We have a raft, Captain," Paddles reported. Everyone in the bullpen perked up a little bit at the news. Renee clasped her hands together as if in prayer, her knuckles turning white with the force of her grip, Mic hovering behind her chair. Chloe gripped Harriet's hand tightly, biting her lower lip, while Kyle placed a comforting hand on his daughter's shoulder and Bud placed one on Harriet's while he cradled a sleeping little AJ on his hip. Jackie rested her head against her husband's shoulder; Carolyn and Loren sat side by side, their hands gripping the armrests of their chairs. A.J. stood over them all, looking outwardly impassive with his arms crossed over his chest. No one uttered a word.

"Coordinates?" Ingles asked, mentally crossing his fingers. CIC was just as silent as JAG Ops as everyone listened for what they all hoped would be good news.

"38 degrees, 37 minutes, north latitude. 74 degrees, 34 minutes, west longitude," Paddles reported back.

"Vector the SAR aircraft," Ingles ordered the air boss.

He walked over to Ingles. "Captain, weather's getting worse," he reported. "Chopper could be outside the safe recovery envelope."

"We'll reevaluate when we get to the scene," Ingles said. He understood the risks, but he wasn't about to give up the opportunity to rescue one or both of the downed officers.

"Roger that," the air boss replied. He ordered the helo pilot, "Prepare to fly. Vector to starboard."

"Viking, what's your speed and altitude?" Ingles asked Paddles.

"180 knots, 100 feet," he reported back.

"That's low and slow," Ingles said.

"It is, Sir," Paddles agreed.

"Be careful, Paddles," Ingles said, concerned about the possibility of losing another pilot.

Paddles didn't acknowledge the warning, reporting, "I'm going to drop flares for the Angel." He released three flares in a triangular shape around the raft below.

"Viking three zero four," the helo pilot said, "this is Angel two one. What is your location?"

"I'm directly over him, Angel," Paddles said. "I'll give you vectors in. Heading three five zero, three miles."

"Roger, Viking," the pilot said. The phone fell silent and more than one person listening closed their eyes, uttering silent prayers. After a few moments, the pilot came back on, reporting to the Patrick Henry, "City Desk, I've got the flares and I've got a strobe. I'm on top of him now."

"Angel, this is the Captain," Ingles cut in. "What's the weather?"

"Uh, ceiling's about a hundred feet," he reported. "Swells now about thirty."

Not the best weather, Ingles knew, but he also was aware they couldn't pick the conditions, especially not with two lives at stake. "How lucky do you feel, Lieutenant?"

"Piece of cake, Skipper," the Lieutenant said confidently as a frogman was lowered into the water. The rescue line was quickly fastened to the figure in the raft and the helo crew quickly reeled in the line. "We got him, we got him. He's cleared the water. He's coming up now."

At JAG, no one dared breathe, realizing that getting him out of the water was only half the battle. They still had no idea what his condition was. But they would know in a minute or two. Renee unclasped her hands and crossed her fingers, murmuring under her breath, "Please, God, let him be okay."

On the helo, a crewman removed Skates' helmet as she coughed and sputtered, gasping for breath. The Lieutenant turned around and quickly took in the scene, then reported, "Sir, it's Lieutenant Hawkes, Sir. She's on board."

Several gasps were heard in the bullpen as Ingles asked, "Any sign of Commander Rabb?"

"No, Sir," the pilot replied. "Let me ask the Lieutenant." No one could hear anything while the pilot presumably asked Skates where Harm was, and then he came back on the line. "Lieutenant Hawkes didn't see Commander Rabb eject, Sir."

Damn, Ingles thought. "Any speculation as to where he is?"

"Hard to say, Sir," he replied. "He could have punched out late. That would put him fifteen, twenty miles in any direction." The pilot gasped as the helo suddenly lurched and he clutched the controls, fighting to keep the craft level and in the air.

"What's happening, Angel?" Ingles asked, concerned with what he was hearing.

"We're getting pushed around, Skipper," the pilot replied through clenched teeth.

"Can you keep her in the air?" Ingles asked.

"I'm trying, Sir," he replied, just a hint of desperation apparent in his tone. "I'm trying."

Ingles sighed, knowing what he had to do. It was a difficult decision, but a necessary one. "Viking," he ordered Paddles, "take another sweep of the area before we call it quits."

The groups at JAG exchanged looks at that, the women tearing up. Those who had been around the military for any length of time knew that time and the weather were working against Harm. Renee looked up at A.J.. "Admiral …." she began, fighting back tears.

"This is Admiral Chegwidden, Captain," A.J. said. "When will you launch again?"

"When the weather improves, Sir," Ingles replied.

A.J. didn't like it, but he knew probably better than anyone else in the room the dangers involved. "Understood," he said reluctantly. "Carry on."

Renee stifled a gasp and jumped up, fleeing into Harm's office, dropping into his chair, her hand covering her mouth as she fought to keep from losing it. She glanced up at a noise to find Mic standing framed in the doorway, his fist tapping gently on the door. "I don't understand why this is happening," she said tearfully, "why he was even out there."

"I don't know what to say, Renee," Mic said sympathetically. "But if they found Skates, they'll find Harm."

"I was just so sure that was him," she whispered, her lower lip trembling. "And then to hear them say that Skates didn't even see him eject. Mic, I'm trying not to, but I'm afraid that …. it's starting to go through my mind that maybe he's …. dead."

"Renee, everything I've heard about Harm makes me believe that he'll get through this," he tried to assure her, not really entirely convinced himself. Although he'd never pulled sea duty with the RAN, he knew that when taking into account the time of year, the weather and the difficulties of searching in the middle of the night, that the odds weren't good. He would rather do just about anything than admit that to Renee, however. He was almost glad Mac wasn't present, her reaction to all this a huge question mark in his mind. He wasn't sure how he would feel about her reaction. There were some things that he was convinced he was better off not knowing – or ignoring.

Renee seemed to accept his assurance – or perhaps she wanted desperately to believe that everything would be alright. She began searching through Harm's desk drawers for tissue. "I probably look a mess," she said, opening one drawer after another. "Trust a man not to have tissue in his desk." She suddenly stopped as her fingers brushed against what felt like a picture frame in his bottom desk drawer. Puzzled, she pulled it out, and then dropped it in the center of the desk as if she'd been burned.

Surprised by her reaction, Mic moved closer to the desk and looked down, visibly dismayed at the framed portrait of Harm and Mac with baby AJ. He quickly tried to reassure Renee and himself. "You know Harm and Sarah are little AJ's godparents," he said weakly. "I think I recognize that dress as the one Sarah wore at the baptism. That was back when I was still with JAG and I was present at the ceremony. It doesn't mean a thing."

"If that were true, then why would he have it hidden away?" Renee asked. "You'd think he was trying to hide something." Of course he was, she realized darkly. He'd been hiding and dancing around what she suspected were his feelings were for Mac. This only reinforced the thought for her.

"Maybe he used to have it on his desk and decided to put it away," Mic suggested.

Renee could see the doubt in his eyes and latched onto it. "You don't really believe that," she accused. "Have you ever seen it on his desk before, back when you worked at JAG?" Mic didn't answer, but as far as Renee was concerned, he didn't need to. "It was all supposed to be over tomorrow. You would marry Mac and then I would finally have my miracle."

"That can still happen," Mic said, trying to convince himself as much as her.

"How?" Renee demanded in a whisper, her tone angry. "Mac's not even here. She's gone off God only knows where without even telling you – her fiancé. My God, she's the entire reason he's out there. He told me before he left that he'd promised her he would be back in time for the ceremony. He told her he'd be here for the wedding, so come hell or high water he was going to be here and now it might have cost him his life. He can't even admit what he feels for her, yet he'd die for her."

"Renee, I don't know if I'd go that far …." Mic began, hoping to calm her as troubled as he was by her assertions, jumping slightly when she suddenly threw the picture against the wall, the glass shattering. The crash caused the muted conversation in the bullpen to come to a screeching halt as everyone looked at each other, as if wondering who was going to check out the commotion. Harriet and Carolyn, closest to Harm's office, exchanged a look and decided to brave the lion's den together.

"Um, do you need anything, Ms. Peterson?" Carolyn asked hesitantly.

Renee looked apologetic and slightly mortified that everyone seemed to have noticed her outburst. She glanced out the open door into the bullpen and everyone suddenly looked away, pretending to suddenly be busy doing anything else besides staring. "I'm sorry, I don't know what …." she said.

"We're all worried about him," Carolyn assured her, "and I'm sure you more than most. We understand completely." She didn't really, but she wasn't going to admit that. She'd seen Harm with Annie, and then with Jordan and Renee was just so different from those women that Carolyn wasn't quite sure what he saw in her. But she'd been around longer than any of his other girlfriends, in spite of the obvious undercurrents Carolyn had always seen between Harm and Mac.

"Thank you," Renee said, taking a cleansing breath as she wiped her eyes. "I could use some tissues, I guess. I was looking in Harm's desk for some …." She trailed off as she remembered that looking through Harm's desk had been what had led to her outburst.

Carolyn laughed but it sounded empty. "What man is going to have tissues in his desk?" she asked. "I've got a box on my desk. I'll go get it."

"It is hard on everyone," Harriet said, kneeling down to carefully pick up the broken glass as Carolyn left. "Most of us have known Commander Rabb for nearly five years. He'd probably never admit it aloud, but the Admiral thinks of him like a son. And he's like a brother to Bud and me and godfather to our children …." She picked up the picture frame, realizing what had caused Renee's emotional response as soon as she turned the picture over. She recognized the photo, not only as one that had been taken by the professional photographer at AJ's baptism, but as one that had been present in Mac's photo album – one that Chloe had pointed to as proof of Harm and Mac's feelings for each other. Was that just early tonight? It almost seemed like a lifetime ago.

Harriet pulled the wastebasket over to her and carefully shook the frame out over it, careful to keep her expression neutral. She was growing more concerned that someone would have to explain everything to Mic and Renee. The longer Mac was gone, the more questions the two of them were bound to ask, questions that she shouldn't be the one to answer. But what if the two people who should answer those questions weren't in a position to do so?

"Why don't you get some rest?" Harriet suggested. "Some pillows and blankets were rounded up when Loren and Commanders Imes and Mattoni went out for food earlier. I don't know that anyone will be getting much sleep tonight, but we're setting up a sleeping area in one of the courtrooms. The Admiral promised to wake everyone up if there is any news."

"I don't know …." Renee began.

"Come on, Renee," Mic said. "It couldn't hurt to try to get some rest. I think I'll try that myself."

Renee looked so lost and forlorn that Harriet felt an enormous wave of sympathy for her. She did like Renee and although she knew Harm and Renee didn't belong together, she was sorry the other woman was hurting and was going to be hurt even more when this was all over. "The Commander's been in tight spots before," she reminded her again. "We all just have to have faith that he will get through this."

"How do you people do this?" Renee blurted out, startling Mic and Harriet slightly. "Military people, I mean. How do you do this knowing that you – or friends of yours – might go off somewhere and not come back? Harm's father never came back from Vietnam. How could he go off knowing that he might never come home to his wife and son?"

Harriet and Mic exchanged a helpless look. "I'm not sure it can be explained, Renee," Harriet said carefully. "For the Commander, it's kind of like the family business. The Navy's in his blood. I don't think he could not serve – or not fly - any more than he could stop breathing. There are sacrifices to be made when you take the oath to serve your country, but that's understood when you sign up. And I guess it's something that those who love people in the military have to learn to live with. I know when Bud was on that sub with Raglan a year and a half ago, I'd never been so scared in my life. But I knew that was part of the job. Maybe it's easier for me to understand since I'm in the Navy myself. I wish I could explain it to you so that you could find some peace, but I'm not sure I really can."

Carolyn returned with a box of tissue before Renee could press Harriet further. "Here you go," she said, holding out the box. Renee took it with a half-smile of gratitude and pulled out several tissues, dabbing at her eyes. "Harriet, did you tell her about the pillows and blankets in the courtroom?"

"I did," Harriet confirmed. "Mic, why don't you take Renee to the courtroom while I finish cleaning up the glass?"

Mic held out his hand to Renee. She hesitated a moment before getting up and walking around the desk, taking his hand. She tried to hand the box of tissues back to Carolyn, but the other woman waved her off. "Just take it to the courtroom," Carolyn said. "Someone else may need some." After Mic and Renee walked out, Carolyn grabbed a broom and dustpan that she'd left just outside the door, handing Harriet the dustpan while she started sweeping up the glass. "I also picked these up when I got the tissues."

"Good thinking," Harriet commented idly, her gaze drawn to the framed picture she'd set down on the floor.

"Nice photo," Carolyn said. "That's from AJ's baptism, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Harriet replied sadly. "Bud and I hired a professional photographer and we got a few taken of AJ with his godparents."

Carolyn shook her head as she swept the pile of glass into the dustpan Harriet held. "This makes no sense," she said.

Harriet looked up at her sharply, realizing that she wasn't talking about Harm's disappearance. That was perhaps the only simple thing about this entire situation, the only thing that made any kind of sense. "When you think about it," she pointed out, "nothing's made sense for the last two years."

"You're probably right," Carolyn said, leaning on the broom as Harriet dumped the glass in the trash can. "Once, I would have thought in a situation like this that Mac would have been on her way out to the carrier, come hell or high water …." Her eyes widened as she began to put the pieces together in her mind. "Harriet, you don't think ….?"

"I think that the four of them have a lot to work out when this is all over," Harriet said vaguely.

Carolyn shook her head again and sighed, reading between the lines. There was something brewing and it was big. What if Mac really was on her way out to the carrier? "I guess what Mic and Renee don't know won't hurt them right now," she said.

"Exactly," Harriet agreed.

-----

SOMEWHERE ON THE ATLANTIC OCEAN  
THREE HOURS LATER

He wasn't sure anymore how long he'd been out here. His watch seemed to have stopped after he'd punched out. He's already checked it a few times, hoping it had just been his imagination, or that he wasn't seeing the face very well due to the salt stinging his eyes. He'd tried keeping track in his mind, but found it so hard to concentrate as he struggled against the huge swells, the water which seemed to find its way into his mouth and nose just through the simple act of trying to breathe, and the bone-chilling cold that even his insulated flight suit couldn't seem to ward off. Of course, he didn't have Mac's sense of time – she'd have been able to tell him down to the second how long he'd been in the water. The thought brought the hint of a smile to his face.

_We've got thirty-three minutes, Commander._

_How'd you do that?_

_I've got great timing._

He nearly chuckled at the memory, remembering just in time that he needed to keep his mouth closed. He felt a swell rising up and held his breath, closing his eyes against the stinging salt water. But it was getting so hard to breathe in the cold water and his lungs burned with the exertion. Somehow, he managed to hold his breath until he broke the surface again, gasping for breath. How much water had he breathed in during the time he'd been out here? Taking in normal breaths was so difficult and becoming more so as time passed. He realized that pneumonia would probably be a concern.

Think of something more pleasant, he ordered himself mentally. He summoned an image of Mac in his mind, the way she'd appeared in one of his dreams – hallucinations? – a few months ago, clothed only in a towel and water droplets. Of course, now he knew what she'd been hiding under that towel in his dreams, knew how soft her skin felt beneath his touch

He felt another swell coming upon him and prepared himself to ride it out, and then felt a sharp pain at the back of his head. Reflexively, he gasped, swallowing water. Almost immediately, he gagged and spit it back out. There was jet fuel in the water. Had the plane gone down close to where he'd gone into the water? Possible, he thought. He'd been pushed around by the wind as he'd gone down. Considering that he'd been in the water for several hours at least – as best as he could figure, anyway – and given how rough the seas were, he could have been pushed around by the water, ending up close to the impact site.

He lifted a hand to his head, idly noting that his arm was shaking. Or was it just his imagination? His vision was blurred, his eyes feeling like they were full of grit. He pulled his hand away, but in the dark and rain and with his gloves, it was hard to tell if there was any bleeding. If he was near where the jet had ultimately crashed, maybe he'd just been thrown again a piece of the wreckage. Maybe he'd be lucky enough to have some more dreams like he'd had the last time he hit his head.

Mac's image formed again in his mind, just out of the shower and with an expression that could only be described as 'come hither'. He wondered what she would taste like, all sweet and dewy, fresh from a shower. He'd been tempted to find out three days earlier at Norfolk. Had it really been only that long, he wondered. It almost seemed like another lifetime ago – or perhaps only a dream.

He'd woken up that morning to the sound of the shower running and had debated with himself whether or not to join her, needing to feel her one last time before they parted, perhaps forever. But then he'd heard the unmistakable sound of silence as she'd turned the shower off and he'd been keenly disappointed when she'd come out of the bathroom a few minutes later already dressed.

She'd sat down on the edge of the bed as he'd sat up, the sheet pooling at his waist, while he'd noted with more than a little satisfaction that she'd seemed unable to keep her gaze from falling to his lap and what was barely hidden by a thin layer of cotton. They'd ended up in each other's arms, his fingers tangling in her still damp hair. It had smelled sweet, he remembered, like strawberries and something else fruity. It might have seemed an odd scent for a Marine, but he knew better than almost anyone that she was also a woman, very passionate and desirable.

With visible reluctance, she'd broken off the kiss, resting her forehead against his as they'd both gasped for breath, quietly reminding him that he needed to get ready to leave for the carrier. He'd seen the tears starting to form in her eyes then and he'd been uncomfortably reminded of the day he'd walked out of JAG, walked out on her.

_Damn you. Why am I the only one crying?_

He had sworn to himself that he would never do that to her again, never again be the cause of her tears, but it had turned out to be a fool's promise. She'd cried as they struggled to come to terms with their convoluted relationship at her engagement party. She'd been close to tears several times as they made love, finally giving free reign to them as they'd faced parting at the terminal.

Was she crying now? Had she already been informed that he'd gone down? The carrier would have informed A.J., he knew. As his commanding officer, they were duty-bound to inform him. Then they would have informed …. he couldn't remember. Mac had once been down as his emergency contact, a sheet inserted in his personnel folder just before he'd left for Russia the first time, before she'd shown up on the plane to accompany him. Had he ever changed that? So much had happened in the last two years, but he couldn't remember making another designation.

If that was the case, that he hadn't changed it, then she already knew. He was used to being there, to being the one to comfort her and to wipe away her tears. Now, more than ever, he would be the reason for those tears. They finally seemed to be, if not on the same page, closer to it than they ever had been regarding their feelings for each other. Sarah, I'm sorry I'm hurting you, he thought. I'm so sorry.

-----

AIRFIELD  
NORFOLK NAVAL AIR STATION  
NORFOLK, VIRGINIA

As soon as she pulled into the parking lot, her headlights caught a familiar and now heartbreaking sight – Harm's SUV. Although there were other cars in the parking lot – probably terminal workers, mostly – his was all alone in the center of the lot. She pulled into the space next to it and killed her Corvette's engine, just staring at the SUV, remembering when they'd parked side by side here just three days earlier. He'd driven through the parking lot that morning, bypassing more than one empty space until he'd found two side by side so they could park next to each other. Had it only been that long, she wondered. So much had happened that it almost seemed like a lifetime ago - or just a dream.

He'd gotten out of the car and had leaned against it while she'd hesitated, not quite ready to get out of her car, knowing that they would just be that much closer to saying goodbye. The sun had been peeking through the clouds and had seemed to shine down on him, as he'd crossed his arms over his chest and patiently waited for her. Despite the flight suit, he didn't look so much like the normally cocky, self-assured flyboy she knew so well. There had been a cloud hanging over his expression, his own private dread of the coming goodbye. At least, that's what she'd hoped it was at the time – a hope born out by his defeatist attitude when he'd called her from the carrier.

After a moment steeling her resolve, she'd finally gotten out of the Corvette and stood in front of him, her fingers reaching up to brush over the patch over his heart. At the time, she'd thought it a bit appropriate since flying had always seemed to come first in his heart. Then she'd found his letter and his wings in her purse and everything she thought she'd known had been turned upside down and inside out even more than it already had been.

This time, Harm wasn't standing there waiting for her and she had to work a little harder to convince herself to get out of the car, finally reminding herself that the sooner she got into the terminal, the sooner she would find out if the personnel there had heard any news from the _Patrick Henry_. Biting her lower lip, she got out of the car and opened the trunk, retrieving the bags she'd packed for herself and Harm. Slinging them both over one shoulder, she purposefully strode towards the terminal.

The terminal was nearly empty, with flight ops presumably scaled back because of the weather, a single man in a khaki Navy uniform conversing with a Lieutenant, his name tag giving his name as Bradford, behind the counter. She stepped up to the counter, gripping the edge as if it were the only thing keeping her upright. Her head jerked up when she heard the words _'Patrick Henry_'. "Excuse me," she broke in, "are you talking about the COD that's supposed to be heading to the _Patrick Henry_ in the morning if the weather breaks?"

The man in the khakis turned and looked at her, revealing the gold oak leafs of a Lieutenant Commander and a name tag with the last name Drake. His expression inexplicably hardened and Mac wondered where she knew him from, finding him vaguely familiar. "I guess it didn't take long for JAG to jump all over this, Ma'am," he said with barely concealed bitterness.

"I don't understand …." she began.

"I recognize you, Colonel Mackenzie," Robert interrupted. "I remember you from when you prosecuted my fiancée – Beth Hawkes."

Mac remembered where she recognized him from as soon as she heard Skates' name. He'd been present every day at Skates' court-martial and after she'd seen them together during one of the recesses, she'd realized that he was Skates' boyfriend. "Commander Drake, I'm sorry, but you have the wrong idea," she said.

"Colonel Mackenzie," Lieutenant Bradford interrupted, noting the undercurrent of tension between the two, "we have a message from Captain Ingles on the _Henry_."

"Harm?" she asked, her voice trembling. Robert began to reevaluate his initial reaction to her, realizing that this wasn't the voice of someone headed out to conduct an investigation. This was a woman barely concealing her fear over the fate of someone very dear to her.

"I'm sorry, Ma'am," Bradford said sympathetically. "They found Lieutenant Hawkes, but there's still no sign of Commander Rabb and …. they had to call in SAR because of the worsening weather."

A gasp was Mac's only noticeable reaction to the less than welcome news. "What about the COD we're supposed to be on?" she asked. "Has a decision been made about whether it's a go?"

"The weather is starting to clear here," he replied, "but the _Henry_ still isn't in the clear. A decision won't be made until closer to daybreak. We have a back room with some cots if you'd like to try to get some rest and there are vending machines just down the hall from that."

Mac nodded as Robert placed a hand at her elbow, guiding her. She accepted the obvious concern, realizing that they were in the same boat. "How is Skates?" she asked.

Robert managed a weak smile, his relief that his fiancée was okay overshadowed by the fact that there was still a man missing, someone Skates cared a lot for, someone whose unknown fate was a torment for the woman beside him. He was touched by the concern he heard in her voice for Skates. "She's waterlogged, but the doctors report she's going to be fine," he replied. "They patched me through to the _Henry_ when I first got here and I was able to speak to her."

"I'm glad," Mac said softly. "What, um …. did she say anything about Harm?"

"Well, she said that it was dark and storming and the wind was blowing pretty well," he said, unable to keep the hesitancy out of his voice.

"But?" Mac prompted.

They found the room Bradford had mentioned and Robert led Mac to one of the cots lining the walls, sitting down with her, his hands resting on his knees, his hands clasped. "Beth said that she didn't see Commander Rabb eject," he said with extreme reluctance.

Mac paled, but otherwise didn't react to the news except to reach into the pocket of Harm's flight jacket and to close her fingers around his wings, as if she might draw strength from the cool piece of metal. "Like you said, the weather's bad and it's dark outside," she echoed, trying to convince herself. "And Harm's a survivor. Some of the things he's been through …." She trailed off, afraid that she couldn't hold back the tears if she said any more.

Robert saw the internal struggled being played out in her eyes and decided to change the subject. "Colonel, I want to apologize for my behavior when you first walked in," he said. "I was way out of line and there's no excuse …."

"It's okay," she said, waving him off. "I think it's safe to say that we're both under a lot of stress right now. I probably would have thought the same thing in your place."

"Still, I'm sorry," he insisted. "Commander Rabb's obviously someone very special to you."

Her expression softened and Robert thought he could see just the barest hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Yes," she whispered. "Very special. I just wished I'd taken the opportunity in the past to let him know just how special."

"The first thing I told Beth when I got her on the line was 'I love you' over and over," he said with a half-hearted chuckle. "She probably thinks I've lost my mind."

Mac bit her lower lip, wishing that she'd been able to say that much just once before all this had happened. So many opportunities lost – even just a few hours ago on the phone, she'd stopped herself from uttering those three little words, wanting to say them in person, not knowing that it might end up being her only opportunity. It scared her to think he might die without knowing exactly how she felt and she clutched his wings just a little tighter. Please, God, she thought. If you'll just bring him back to me, I promise I'll never let the opportunity pass by to let him know how much he means to me.

She looked up at Robert and attempted a smile, although she was sure it came out looking something more like a grimace. "So how did you and Skates meet?" she asked, needing a distraction, any distraction.

"Well, I'm a public affairs officer," he said, leaning back against the wall behind them. "Skates was involved in a crash a few years ago in which the pilot died. The PAO on the _SeaHawk_ need a little help deflecting all the media attention, especially since the deceased pilot had recently accused the CAG of sexual harassment, so I was sent TAD out there to help out and pretty much ended up shadowing Skates for about a week, helping her handle media requests for interviews and such."

"I remember that incident," Mac said. At Robert's questioning glance, she explained, "Harm – Commander Rabb – and I were on the Sea Hawk investigating Lieutenant Isaacs' claims. We witnessed the crash and Harm was the one who saved Skates' life when she nearly went over the side of the carrier."

"She'd told me he saved her life and that's how she'd met him," Robert said. "When he returned to active flight status, she was so thrilled to get to fly with him."

"Yeah," she said softly. "He seems to really inspire devotion in a lot of people – when he's not driving them crazy."

He laughed. "If I wasn't so secure in my relationship with Beth, I might have been concerned. So how did you two meet? I assume through work since you're both at JAG."

"Pretty much," she replied, a far away look in her eyes. "He was receiving his first Distinguished Flying Cross in the White House Rose Garden …."

-----

To be continued…


	6. Chapter 6

SARAH RABB'S FARM  
BEALLSVILLE, PENNSYLVANIA

Sarah wouldn't normally call herself a particularly light sleeper, but she awoke fairly quickly at the sound of a car pulling up in front of her house. She glanced at the clock on the nightstand, brushing sleep from her eyes as she tried to focus on the red digital display, her eyes widening as she took note of the very early hour. Purposefully, she rose from bed and grabbed her robe, laying over the back of a chair, and quickly put it on, belting it at her waist.

Glancing out the bedroom window, she saw two men get out of the car, the first thing occurring to her that neither man appeared to be wearing a uniform of any kind. Her mind flashed back on the day nearly sixty years earlier when two Naval officers had shown up on her doorstep. It had been shortly after breakfast and she'd been in the front yard, hanging the wash on the line while keeping a careful eye on her two-year-old son playing in the grass with the family dog. She'd known before they'd even said a word what they were there for, but she'd maintained her composure in front of her son, waiting until her parents had arrived to look after him before going off by herself to cry for her lost soul mate.

Having lost both her husband and son in the service of their country and having two grandsons in the military, one in a prisoner of war camp half a world away, it was almost second nature to be wary of unknown visitors and whatever news they might be bringing. She didn't worry about crime – there just wasn't much in the area and Sarah knew she was hardly a likely target of criminals anyway. Studying the two men as they got closer to the front porch, their features illuminated by the porch light, she felt her heart rise into her throat. They might not have been wearing uniforms, but their bearings screamed military to her, especially the one who appeared to be the older of the two, right down to his regulation military haircut. Mentally saying a quick prayer, she headed downstairs, a knock sounding on the front door when she was halfway down the stairs.

She opened the door and the feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach grew stronger when she saw their drawn and worried faces. Whatever these strangers were there for, it was not good news. "May I help you?" she asked.

"Mrs. Rabb?" Gunny asked. At her nod, he continued, "Ma'am, I'm Gunnery Sergeant Victor Galindez and this is Petty Officer Jason Tiner. May we come in?"

Sarah nodded mutely, stepping aside so they could enter. She recognized both names from Harm's letters and phone calls and knew instinctively that this was about him. She'd spoken to him earlier in the week and knew he'd been planning to go out to a carrier for his quals. They'd had an unusually short conversation and she'd known something had been bothering him, but he hadn't given her the chance to press him about it, although he'd hinted that he might come up to the farm for part of the holiday weekend.

She led the two men to the living room and gestured for them to sit on the couch, taking a seat in an armchair. "This is about Harm, isn't it?" she asked, cutting right to the chase.

They exchanged a slightly startled glance before Gunny nodded. "Yes, Ma'am," he replied. "Commander Rabb had gone out to the USS Patrick Henry to complete his carrier landing qualifications." He paused and Sarah nodded, indicating that she knew that much. "Well, he was returning from the carrier when his Tomcat got caught in a storm and experienced systems failures. He is believed to have gone down about one hundred miles off the coast of North Carolina."

Sarah clasped her hands in her lap tighter, but otherwise had no visible reaction. "What about search and rescue?" she asked. "If he went down in a storm, is weather going to be a problem for the rescue teams?"

Gunny hesitated, but realized from the questions she was asking that she wouldn't want the truth softened or deflected. "We've been in contact with Admiral Chegwidden at JAG headquarters several times since we left Washington," he said. "The last word we had was that Lieutenant Hawkes, your grandson's radio intercept officer, was picked up, but there was no sign of Commander Rabb before the team was called in because of the weather. As soon as the weather clears, the Henry will send its team back out to be joined by the Coast Guard."

"I see," Sarah said calmly, despite being inwardly troubled by the news. "And how long are they estimating that Harm can survive under those conditions?"

"I'm sorry, Ma'am," Gunny said, managing to keep the hesitancy out of his voice. "I'm not an expert in that area and Admiral Chegwidden didn't say." The truth was, when A.J. had called to give them the latest news on the rescue efforts, neither of them had wanted to ask what the odds were. They'd both been in the military long enough to be pretty sure that they weren't good, but as long as they didn't have concrete information on that score from A.J., then they could honestly answer that they didn't know.

Sarah sensed that he was hedging on that point, but didn't press the issue. As long as there was no word that Harm was otherwise, she was going to believe that he was still alive. She thought that she would know if he were dead. Although she would hardly call herself a believer in the mystic, she did believe that she could feel when something happened to members of her family. She'd known deep down, even before the Naval officers had shown up in 1942, that her husband was gone, just as she'd sensed that her son was somehow still out there for years after he'd been shot down. Perhaps that had been why it had been easier for her to accommodate Harm's insistent belief that his father was still alive, not that she blamed Trish in the least for wanting to move on with her life. She'd even felt something troubling in the hours before Frank and Trish had shown up to inform her about Harm's crash in 1991 and although she only knew him from a few photos, letters and phone calls before he'd been taken prisoner, she thought she would know if something happened to Sergei as well.

"Do Trish and Frank know yet?" she asked.

"Yes, Ma'am," Jason spoke up for the first time. "The Admiral called them from JAG shortly after he received the news. They're on their way to Washington and should be arriving sometime after daybreak."

"So they get a phone call and I get a visit in person?" she asked, expressing mild amusement, sensing Trish and Frank's hand in it.

"I believe they were concerned about you receiving the news and wanting to drive to Washington in the middle of the night, Ma'am," Gunny explained. "Jason and I volunteered to drive up here …. It gave us something to do while waiting for news."

"Trish and Frank worry too much," Sarah said emphatically. Her eyes fell on an end table, where several photos in frames were clustered on top. She picked up one, a folding frame with four sections, containing pictures of her husband, son, and both grandsons, all in their uniforms. "I've already out-lived both my husband and son and my youngest grandson is currently sitting in a prison camp in Chechnya, a country that a year ago I probably couldn't have pointed out on a map. I've known from the day Harm first put on his Navy uniform that something might happen. I pray to God everyday that it won't, but I've always been prepared for the possibility."

"Yes, Ma'am," Gunny said, not sure what else to say. Despite their combined years in the military, neither man knew what the right words were for someone who'd lived so long, seen so much tragedy in her life.

Sarah set the frame down and squared her shoulders. "It's probably earlier than you're used to, but would you gentleman care for some breakfast before we head to Washington?" she asked. "It won't take me long to whip something up."

Gunny didn't even hesitate before he replied, "Thank you, Ma'am. That would be appreciated." Despite sharing driving duties on the way up, they were both closing in on twenty-four hours since they'd gotten any significant amount of sleep and they knew refueling on something more substantive than the chips and sodas which had sustained them on the drive wouldn't be a bad idea.

"If you'll excuse me for a few minutes," she said, heading upstairs to change.

After she was gone, Jason exhaled sharply, relieved that was over. "She's a strong and determined woman," he commented idly.

Gunny nodded. "Remind you of anyone?" he asked.

"I guess it runs in the family," Jason replied with a half smile. His eyes were drawn to the frame Sarah had been looking at and his expression fell. "I just wish fate would be a little kinder to a family that's already been through so much."

Upstairs in her bedroom, Sarah picked up a well-worn Bible from her nightstand. It had been in her family for over a hundred and fifty years and had been presented to her, as the oldest child in her family, the day she'd married. She'd dutifully recorded important family dates in the front pages – her marriage date, of course, her son's birth, her husband's death, her son's marriage to Patricia Reed, her older grandson's birth. Two dates, although nearly twenty years past, had only been recently added to the book – her son's death in mid-1982 and Sergei's birth later that year.

That's where the family history ended. There were no further marriage entries, no births of great-grandchildren recorded. With a choked back sob, she sank down on the edge of the bed. For a few moments, she clutched the Bible to her chest and let the tears fall as she closed her eyes and prayed for her grandson's safe return. She then took a deep breath, set the Bible down, wiped the tears from her eyes and set about getting dressed.

-----

SOMEWHERE IN CHECHNYA

Colonel Mikhail Vonikoff stalked through the camp with an air of impatience, forcing the man following him to practically run to keep up. There was hardly any glory to be had in watching over a bunch of prisoners and he was tired of the attention his camp had garnered since December, when the capture of a simple Russian sergeant had drawn notice from officials in the American government. How were his troops to have known that the helicopter pilot they'd captured was the half-Russian son and brother of American Naval officers? His superiors insisted that he had to take extra care with this particular prisoner and put up with occasional visits from International Red Cross workers and the occasional American unofficially checking on conditions at the camp and on that prisoner specifically. The higher-ups thought it would show the Americans, who had stayed out of the Russian-Chechen conflict thus far, how much more just the Chechens were than the barbaric Russians who had invaded their homes and bombed their cities to rubble.

Vonikoff walked along the fence which cordoned off what was officially an 'exercise' pen, where the prisoners were herded twice a day to walk in the sunshine. Unofficially, and away from the view of outside observers, it wasn't unusually for prisoners to be left out there overnight, depending on the general mood of the guards and restlessness of the prisoners. Restless prisoners usually were less so after a night spent in the chilly mountain air.

Sergei was using the pen for its official purpose, walking briskly along the fence line. He took whatever opportunities he could find to keep his strength and agility up. His mother had told him the story of how his father had escaped from a Russian prison camp after nearly eleven years in captivity, information she'd learned from Harm the first time she'd met him, and Sergei was determined that as long as he was alive, his goal would be getting out of prison through whatever means necessary. Maybe he'd even take his brother up on the offer to move to America and attend college. His mother would probably like that, preferring him to be safe halfway around the world than facing an uncertain future in the Russian Army.

The thought of his mother brought a half smile to his face. He knew from the occasional visits from aid workers and the officials working to obtain his release in a prisoner exchange that she was fine, if extremely worried about him. He also knew that Major Sokol had someone who gave her periodic updates on the efforts to get him released. For so long, his mother had been his only known family and they were very close.

He slipped a hand into the pocket of his tattered jacket and pulled out the picture of his parents that he always carried with him. He'd been surprised that it hadn't been taken from him when he'd been captured, until he'd been told by a Red Cross worker that the Chechens had known that he was half-American even before he'd been taken to the camp. He suspected that the Chechens were trying to show the Americans that they were the good guys in the war by taking relatively good care of him, the upside being that everyone in the camp got treated just a little bit better when international observers were watching. The downside was that the rest of the prisoners seemed to know that he was the reason for the better treatment and it set him apart from the others, many of whom eyed him with suspicion, wondering if he was going to sell them out to their captors in exchange for his own freedom. It was a lonely existence, but Sergei got through it by physically and mentally preparing himself to be free someday and by dreaming of the farm in Svischevo where he'd grown up and by imagining America with all its gleaming monuments and freedoms that still seemed to be a distant dream to most Russians.

"Zhukov," Vonikoff called out when he caught sight of Sergei a few feet away. Sergei turned towards the shout, hurriedly stuffing the photo back in his pocket, relaxing slightly when he recognized the man accompanying the camp commander as a minor official from the American embassy, in actuality a CIA agent who owed Clayton Webb a few favors, a minor enough official that it wasn't worth the trouble for the Chechens to try and hold him, as far as they knew at least. He should have suspected something was up when he was called by name. On a good day, prisoners were usually addressed by the Chechen equivalent of 'Hey, you!' On a bad day, the language could be quite derogatory. Being addressed by name was just for the visitor's benefit.

Feeling the eyes of his fellow prisoners on him, he walked over to the two men, coming to attention in front of the Colonel. That had been one of the first lessons he'd learned in the camp. One of the prisoners who had been brought in at the same time as him had shown what the Chechen guards had considered a definitely lack of respect and had been beaten, later dying of his injuries. Although it galled him to show any kind of respect to the Chechen terrorists, he rationalized it by acknowledging that he didn't want the kind of freedom death would bring. That only brought more stares and whispers from the other prisoners. But he would do whatever it took to stay alive, short of selling out his country.

Vonikoff acknowledged Sergei with a slight nod of his head and took a step back, in a show of allowing them privacy to talk. Not that he would have understood a word they were saying – although all of the people who had ever checked on Sergei spoke Russian in order to communicate with camp officials, they always communicated with him in English, which very few Chechens spoke. As long as Sergei didn't try anything overt, he was rarely questioned about the content of such discussions. On the few occasions when he was asked, he reported simply that they were asking after him for news to pass to his family, which is what most of the conversations did consist of. None of his visitors were about to go out on a limb for him to help him escape. Harm might have, he was reasonably sure, but his brother was in America.

"How are you, Sergeant Zhukov?" Daniel Mason asked, lighting a cigarette and taking a long drag. He turned and offered one to Vonikoff, who readily accepted.

"Fine," Sergei replied. "The weather's getting better." The sun was peaking out through the clouds and the mud created by the heavy rain at the beginning of the week was finally drying.

Mason sighed, dangling his cigarette between his fingers. "Major Sokol asked me to come," he said. "I have news for you – from America."

"My brother?" he asked, curling his fingers around the links of the fence, realizing that it could only be bad news. "What happened?"

"He was on his way back home from an American Naval ship in the Atlantic Ocean when his plane apparently went down in the ocean a few hours ago," Mason explained as Sergei closed his eyes, resting his forehead against the fence. "I don't know much beyond that. Major Sokol spoke to Mr. Webb and the search and rescue teams were barely into their search at that time."

"Where in the Atlantic Ocean?" Sergei asked.

"About one hundred miles off the American coast," he replied. At Sergei's blank look, he clarified, "One hundred sixty kilometers."

"He went down in the middle of the night," Sergei realized, figuring the time in his head.

"Just before midnight, Eastern time in the States," Mason confirmed. "Mr. Webb was asked to find a way to get word to you before the Chechens find out somehow and, well, use the information against you in some way. I imagine an American F-14 going down will eventually hit the news and once the names of the crew are released …."

"If it is on ZNN, someone here is bound to hear eventually and realize that the one of them is my brother," Sergei said, opening his eyes, which were clear and dry. He stared off at some point in the distance. "Anything else?"

"Not right now," Mason said. "I'll be hanging around the camp for a while, ostensibly to make a report on conditions, and I have a radio that Major Sokol will use to contact me if there's any news."

Sergei nodded and turned away, struggling with his emotions, barely noticing when Mason and Vonikoff walked away. He leaned back against the fence, thinking of the man with whom he'd first fought, and then developed a pretty close relationship with, despite the miles which separated them. Sliding to the ground, note even taken note if the soil beneath him was dry or wet, he withdrew another picture from his pocket, one taken of him and Harm before the latter left Chechnya seven months previously. He'd known that he was in constant danger, choosing to stay in a war zone. He accepted that, aware of how his grandfather had died, how his father had been captured. But Harm was in America, a country at peace. How could something have happened to him?

-----

SEVERAL HOURS LATER  
JUST AFTER DAYBREAK  
USS PATRICK HENRY

Ingles stood on the observation deck, watching the activity below him on the flight deck, rubbing a hand across his tired eyes. It had been just over twenty-six hours since he'd last slept, not the longest period of time he'd ever gone without rest, but the feeling of dread threatening to settle over him was adding to his fatigue, brought about by the knowledge that the odds were getting longer with every hour that passed.

The weather had finally broken about an hour before dawn and the SAR aircraft back in the air within minutes after the weather people had given the all clear and about half an hour after that, he'd received word that the Coast Guard had joined the search. Regular flight ops were still shut down pending completion of a nose to tail inspection of every Tomcat, ordered by the CAG after listening to tapes of Navy 241's communications with Oceana which pointed at massive system failure.

He heard the door open behind him and turned to find Pike stepping out onto the deck carrying a clipboard and two cups of coffee, one of which he handed to Ingles. "All birds check out, Captain," Pike reported. "No problems found. Flight ops ready to resume as soon as you give the word."

Ingles nodded impassively. "Proceed," he ordered. "What's the current track of the storms?"

"Moved off to the north-northeast," Pike said. "Winds coming from the southwest."

Ingles headed to the bridge, Pike following close behind. "Navigator," Ingles called out as soon as he stepped onto the bridge, "turn the ship two-two-five in preparation for launching the squadron."

"Two-two-five," the navigation officer replied. "Aye, Sir."

Ingles picked up the mike and called the air boss. "Boss, proceed with flight ops as soon as we're turned into the wind at your discretion," he ordered. "Vector the Tomcats away from the search area until further notice."

"Aye, Sir," the air boss replied. "Hold a minute, Sir. We're receiving a report from Viking …. Sir, Viking reports spotting a life raft. Angel is moving in for a closer look." Ingles and Pike exchanged a look as they waited for word. "Sir, Angel reports the raft is empty."

"Understood," Ingles said, his voice void of emotion. "Continue the search. What's the ETA on the cod from Norfolk?"

"Thirty-seven minutes, Captain."

"Carry on," he said. He silently turned back Pike, his eyes the only thing in his bearing which betrayed the gravity of the situation. He lowered his voice. "I'll be in my ready room. Keep me informed."

"Yes, Sir," Pike replied. There didn't seem to be anything else to say.

-----

JAG HEADQUARTERS  
FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA

A.J. had tried grabbing some sleep on the floor of his office, using a sleeping bag he'd gotten out of the back of his car, but had given up on the effort at about 0300. At that point, he'd booted up his computer and, fortified by massive amounts of coffee, attempted to get caught up on the piles of folders that never seemed to leave the inbox on his desk. About an hour later, he decided to take a break before he went blind on paperwork and checked his e-mail, when he finally read the message that Mac had sent him before she'd left for Norfolk, which didn't really tell him anything that he didn't already know.

Around that time, he received a call from Gunny, reporting that he and Jason were at the Rabb farm and were getting ready to return to Washington with Sarah Rabb. Frank Burnett had called from the air at about five, reporting that they were ahead of schedule and would be landing at Reagan between six-thirty and seven and would head for JAG from the airport, having arranged already for a car to be waiting for them. Now, there was really nothing left for A.J. to do but wait – wait and pray.

Shortly before seven, his private phone line rang and he picked it up immediately, knowing it could only be from one person. "Chegwidden," he said.

"Admiral, this is Captain Ingles," Ingles said. "I have some news, but I'm afraid it's less than welcome. We sent SAR back up just before daybreak and they just reported that they found an empty raft."

"I see," A.J. said, sighing deeply as he rubbed his eyes. "Damn. What's the estimated survival time given the conditions?"

"We're still within the time frame," Ingles replied, "but I don't have to tell you what finding an empty raft means."

"No," A.J. said, turning in his chair to stare out his window. The sun was peaking through the clouds now that the storms had passed, but it meant nothing. For a man who'd already been out on the ocean half the night, the sun could come out and the temperature could go up twenty degrees and it would not help.

"That said, Admiral," Ingles continued firmly, "no one here is giving up until we know something definite, one way or the other. Since we found the raft, we're concentrating search efforts in that area. The Coast Guard has also joined the search, allowing us to cover a wider area."

"Thank you, Captain," A.J. said. "Everyone here appreciates your efforts."

"Also," Ingles said, "a COD took off from Norfolk at dawn carrying Colonel Mackenzie and Lieutenant Hawkes' fiancé. It's expected here in just over half an hour. And Admiral …." he hesitated, not sure how to broach the next subject.

"Yes, Captain?"

"Given the lengthening," he said, "although far from impossible odds, perhaps it might be better not to put the rescue back on speaker phone. It's your decision, of course, but those close to Commander Rabb might not handle hearing the blow by blow if things, well, if they don't go our way."

A.J. didn't hesitate before making his decision. "I'll keep this line open so you can continue to contact me directly," he said. "When there's news, I'll pass it on to my people myself."

"Agreed, Admiral," Ingles said. "I'll keep you informed."

"Thank you, Captain," A.J. said, turning around to hang up the phone. Returning his gaze to the window, he said a silent prayer for the man he considered a friend, remembering again the dire circumstances aboard the _Suribachi_, hoping that he was right and that Harm could beat the odds once again.

-----

Renee slowly awoke to the smell of strong, fresh coffee. She blinked several times to clear her vision, finding Mic kneeling next to her, holding out a mug of coffee. She pushed herself into a sitting position, pushing her mused hair off her face. "What time is it?" she asked sleepily, accepting the offered cup and sipping gently.

"Seven," Mic said. "That's when you said you wanted to be woken up."

Renee nodded. "Has there been any word yet?" she asked.

Mic sat down on the floor next to her, sipping his own coffee. "From the carrier," he said, "just that they sent the search and rescue teams back out just before dawn and they've been joined by several Coast Guard helos." A.J. had passed that much on to those who were awake after he'd gotten off the phone with Captain Ingles.

"That's good, right?" Renee asked hopefully. "Having more people out there looking, I mean? And it's daylight, so it should be easier to spot him."

"It's good," he replied to the first part, ignoring the second assertion. Daylight might actually make it harder to spot his strobe, he thought, especially if the sun was out and reflecting off the water.

Renee sensed he was holding back something, but before she could press him about it, Loren entered the courtroom, looking rumpled in the jeans and t-shirt she'd slept in, her hair pulled back off her face in a pony tail. "Ms. Peterson," she said, stifling a yawn, "I thought you'd like to know that the Commander's parents just arrived. They're out in the bullpen talking to the Admiral."

Mic got up quickly and helped Renee to her feet, following her out of the courtroom. Renee managed a watery half-smile when she caught sight of Trish in the center of the bullpen. "Trish," she exclaimed, enveloping the older woman in a tight hug. Trish looked slightly startled, but quickly recovered and returned the hug.

Pulling back, she studied Renee for a moment. "How are you doing, Renee?" she asked, her tone concerned.

"I'm hanging on," she said, brushing back tears. "Telling myself that it will be okay, that Harm's a survivor."

"Yes, he is," Frank said confidently, putting his arm around his wife.

"Oh, Frank," Trish said, "this is Renee Peterson, Harm's girlfriend. Renee, this is my husband Frank."

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Burnett," Renee said pleasantly. Suddenly remembering that Mic was behind her, she motioned to him. "This is Mic Brumby, Mac's fiancé. Mic, these are Harm's parents, Trish and Frank Burnett."

They exchanged pleasantries, Trish concluding by commenting, "I didn't know that Mac was getting married."

Renee frowned as she realized Harm hadn't told his parents that Mac was getting married, as if he was in denial, an expression that didn't go unnoticed by Frank, who was studying Renee carefully, as if measuring her up. She seemed pleasant enough, he thought, but not Harm's usual type, at least not as far as his more serious relationships went.

"Well, we were supposed to get married today," Mic told Trish sadly. "Of course, we wouldn't think of going forward given the current …. situation. Right now, everyone's just hoping that Commander Rabb is found safe."

Frank took advantage of Trish being distracted by her conversation with Mic to walk over to A.J.. "Admiral, can I speak with you a moment?" he asked in a whisper, keeping an eye on his wife.

Sensing that the other man wanted privacy, A.J. motioned Frank into his office and closed the door behind them. "Admiral," Frank continued, his manner grave, "I know Harm pretty well and know what he's been through over the years, but the situation isn't good, is it? He's been out there for over seven, going on eight hours, correct?"

"No, it isn't good," A.J. admitted, recognizing a man who wanted straight talk, "but far from hopeless. The Captain of the _Henry_ assured me that we're still within the survivability range given weather conditions. However, um, I did receive some less than welcome news from Captain Ingles which I haven't told anyone yet." He paused, gauging Frank's reaction.

"Tell me, Admiral," Frank insisted, his voice firm. "I want to know."

"Shortly after they went back up," A.J. said, "the search and rescue team found an empty life raft about twelve miles away from where they found his RIO. The upside, such as it is, is that finding the raft is confirmation that Harm was able to eject, which we weren't sure of from Lieutenant Hawkes' report. Given the stormy conditions last night, it's not outside the realm of possibility that he was thrown from the raft."

"But not being in the raft means that he has to tread water to stay afloat," Frank realized, "which expends energy, plus it means more exposure to the chilly water, which increases the chances of hypothermia."

"That's true," A.J. said. "You know a lot about the subject."

"Do you have any children, Admiral?" Frank asked.

"Francesca," A.J. replied. "She's twenty-nine and works for a fashion magazine in Milan."

"I never had any children of my own," Frank explained, a faraway look in his eyes. "Trish and I decided for several reasons not to have any. Although our relationship has been rocky at times, Harm's the only child I'll ever have and although he's probably not aware of this, I've always kept a close eye on his career. When he went to the Gulf, I read every report, every newspaper article I could about what was going on over there. I wanted to know what he was getting into. I even have a subscription to the _Navy Times_. After his first crash, I read everything I could about the F-14, about the causes of night blindness. I wanted to know exactly why my son almost died. I probably knew as much about his crash as the mishap investigators. While Trish tried to sleep on the flight here, I used the plane's phone to connect to the internet and learn what I could about what Harm's going through right now. Admiral, I'm hoping and praying that he'll survive this like he survived Southeast Asia, Libya, his first crash, Russia, but if the worst happens, I want to understand why."

"I can understand that," A.J. said sympathetically, remembering when Francesca had been kidnapped. "As a parent, you want to do anything you can to protect your child. Sometimes, you're just not in a position to do so and all you can do is demand answers as to why it happened."

"Trish and Sarah have been through so much," Frank said, "with what happened to Harm's father and grandfather and I know that Sarah already has a heavy weight on her shoulders with her other grandson being in a Chechen prison camp. You know, I was the first to find out, and then I had to tell Trish and Sarah about Harm's first crash. I can still remember the look of horror on my wife's face, and then the trembling expression on her mother-in-law's when we showed up at her farm on our way to Landstuhl. I've always prayed that I'd never have to go through another day like that one."

Both men were silent for a moment, neither knowing quite what to say. Finally, Frank broke the somewhat uncomfortable silence. "Thank you for being straight with me, Admiral," Frank said. "I appreciate your candor."

"Why don't we rejoin everyone before they start asking questions neither of us would rather answer right now?" A.J. suggested, opening his office door. Frank nodded and followed A.J. back out into the bullpen where the JAG staff was beginning to gather, most looking restless and drawn from lack of sleep. Shortly after they entered, Gunny and Jason showed up with Sarah.

"Mom," Trish said, greeting the older woman with a tight hug, blinking back tears.

As they pulled back, Sarah placed a comforting hand on her daughter-in-law's cheek. "He's out there and he's alive," Sarah said confidently. She tapped a finger over her heart. "I feel it in here."

Trish smiled at a long-ago memory. "You said that after his first crash," she remembered, "and while he was in Russia and it was being reported …." She trailed off, unable to voice the thought.

"Your son is a survivor," Sarah said, "just like his father." She turned and smiled warmly at Frank, releasing Trish to give him a similarly warm hug. "How are you doing, Frank?"

"Hoping and praying," he said, smiling at the woman who'd welcomed him into the family so warmly nearly twenty-five years earlier, helping to make things a lot better than they might have been regarding his relationship with Harm. "How are you doing, Sarah?"

"The same," she said, her gaze turning towards Renee, whom Trish was motioning forward. From the vague description she'd gotten from Harm, she realized that this was Harm's girlfriend.

"Mom," Trish said by way of introduction, "this is Renee Peterson, Harm's girlfriend. Renee, this is Harm's grandmother, Sarah Rabb."

"Hello, Mrs. Rabb," Renee said, taking Sarah's hands in hers and squeezing them gently. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm just sorry it couldn't be under better circumstances."

"I'm …." Sarah began, looking down when she felt something bump against her legs, finding wide blue eyes staring back at her. She recognized the little boy from Harm's description and pictures he'd shown her. "Hello. I'm guessing that you're AJ Roberts."

AJ nodded excitedly at hearing his name. "AJ," he said proudly, patting his chest.

"Hello, AJ," Sarah said, kneeling down with an agility that belied her age. "I'm Gram Sarah."

"AJ," Chloe called out, rushing into the bullpen, hands on her hips in a display of mock frustration while AJ giggled excitedly. "I told your mother I'd keep an eye on you. I'm sorry, everyone. It's amazing that someone so small can move so fast. He's like Speedy Gonzalez."

"That's okay," Sarah assured her. "I remember Harm taking off like that when he was that young. That boy was the devil to keep up with – always running around, getting into things. He was such a curious child."

"I'm Chloe Anderson," she introduced herself as Sarah stood back up. "I'm Mac's …. Colonel Mackenzie's little sister."

"I've heard a lot about you from Harm," Sarah said. "I'm Sarah Rabb, Harm's grandmother, and this is Trish and Frank Burnett, Harm's parents."

"Hello, everyone," Chloe said.

"It's nice of you to be here, waiting for word on Harm," Trish said. "I understand your sister was supposed to be getting married today."

"Well, um, we're all just worried about Harm and wanted to be together to wait for word," Chloe said, trying to keep the discomfort out of her voice at the mention of the wedding. "There are a lot of people who love him and are pulling for him. He's got a lot to live for here."

"Yes, he does," Renee agreed.

Chloe turned away in an effort to keep her expression from betraying her thoughts, realizing suddenly that AJ had wandered off again, this time towards Harm's open office. "Unca Harm?" he asked, peeking into the dark office. He looked back at the adults, confusion on his face. "Where Unca Harm?"

"Oh, AJ," Chloe said softly, quickly walking over and picking him up, setting him on her hip, kissing his cheek. Looking back at the adults, she noticed that Trish and Renee were both struggling to keep tears from their eyes. It was time for a distraction. "Hey, are you thirsty, AJ? Why don't we go see if we can find some juice in the kitchen? If you all will excuse us." With a nod to the adults, she carried AJ out of the bullpen.

"Down," AJ insisted once they were in the hallway. Chloe relented after a moment of AJ squirming in her arms, keeping a firm hold on one of his hands.

"I told Mommy I'd keep an eye on you," she insisted when he tried to pull away.

As they entered the kitchen, AJ's wandering mind returned to a previous topic of discussion. "Where Unca Harm?" he asked again, Chloe's heart nearly breaking at the innocent look on his face. She sat down on the kitchen floor and pulled him into her lap, resting her head against his as her tears fell unfettered.

"Chloe, are you okay?"

Chloe looked up to find Frank in the kitchen doorway, looking down at them with sympathy. "AJ was just asking about Harm again," she said, "and I don't know what to tell him. Does he even realize that something's wrong and somehow connects that with Harm or does he just expect to find Harm at JAG?"

Frank sat down on the floor next to them, smiling when AJ, curious about the newcomer, crawled into his lap. "I don't know," he said. "Some people say that even babies realize when something's wrong with all the adults around them and although they may not understand what's wrong, they react to all the emotions around them."

"I keep trying to tell myself that Harm has a lot to live for," she said, "and that he's going to be okay, but then I remember the look on my dad's face when he told me the news and I asked if Harm was going to be okay …." She squeezed her eyes shut as Frank patted her shoulder.

"Every time Harm's gone off somewhere," Frank said, "Libya, the Gulf, Russia, Kosovo – I feel like I start holding my breath as soon as he leaves and I don't start breathing again until he's safely home. But when he mentioned last week in a phone call that he was going off to do his quals, it seemed so …. routine."

"When he called last night …." She stopped suddenly, clasping her hand over her mouth as she realized what she was saying.

"Chloe," Frank said carefully, "is there something going on? Well, I noticed that you seem uncomfortable around Renee."

"I hardly know her," she said, trying weakly to explain away her behavior. "I just met her last night."

"Perhaps," he said, "but I also noticed that Mac's not around. I would have expected her to be. Although we've never met her – we just never seemed to connect with Harm and Mac all the times they've been out in California for cases – Harm's talked a lot about her over the last five years. I also think it a bit odd that Harm never mentioned to us that Mac was getting married today or that he would risk being gone so close to her wedding. I would think that his best friend getting married would at least rate a mention and that he would want to make sure nothing would keep him from being there."

"I can't really talk about it," Chloe said cautiously. "It's not my place to say, um, well, except that it's complicated."

"You know," Frank confided, "the way he's always talked about her, I guess I expected that Mac would be the one he would finally decide to settle down with. We've never pressured him about it, but Trish and I really do want grandchildren someday."

Chloe started crying harder, burying her face against Frank's shoulder while he put a comforting arm around her. AJ, startled by the outburst, looked confused, pressing a hand against Chloe's wet cheek. "I keep telling myself that Harm is the strongest man I know and he'll get through this," Frank said, fighting against tears himself.

All three of them looked up at the sound of a throat clearing to find Mic standing in the doorway. It bothered him slightly to find Mac's sister crying on the shoulder of Harm's stepfather, but he forced the feeling down. He had more important things on his mind. "Chloe," he began, "I was wondering if you'd heard anything from Sarah? I'm very worried about her."

Chloe climbed to her feet while she struggled to think of something to say, Frank doing the same, cradling AJ in his arms. "Um, not since the Admiral said she'd been informed," she finally said evasively. "But Mac's like that sometimes, just wants to be alone with her thoughts when something's troubling her."

Mic ran a hand through his hair, growing even more frustrated. "Doesn't anyone seem to care that no one's seen or heard from Sarah all night?" he snapped. "She should be here with those who love and support her."

"Her best friend is missing and God only knows what," Chloe retorted, losing her temper with Mic while AJ started crying at the yelling, Frank rocking him gently in an attempt to soothe him. "I don't see anything wrong with wanting to have some space right now."

"Enough of this," Sarah said firmly, walking into the kitchen with Trish and Renee on her heels. She took up a place next to Frank and patted AJ on the back, murmuring softly to him. As he calmed, she looked firmly at everyone else. "You're scaring AJ."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Rabb," Chloe said. "I'm just a little on edge because of Harm. I'm really worried about him."

Mic hesitated, not really appreciative of being rebuked by Harm's grandmother of all people. She fixed him with a hard stare, and he finally relented, "I apologize as well. I'm just concerned about my fiancée."

"Mic does have a point," Renee added, barely able to keep the condemnation out of her voice. "He just wants to provide support and comfort to the woman he's supposed to marry today and she's nowhere around."

"People deal with things in their own way, Ms. Peterson," Sarah said in a tone that would allow for no argument. "Sometimes they cling to others, seeking comfort from others in the same situation. Sometimes they retreat within themselves until they're ready to open up to those around them. I think the best thing anyone who cares about her can do for Mac is to let her have her space now and be there for her when she's ready."

"Chloe, why don't we go find AJ's mother?" Frank suggested, anxious to diffuse the situation. "She can probably do a better job than any of us comforting him."

Chloe nodded and followed him out of the kitchen, breathing an audible sigh of relief once they were out of earshot of the others. Almost immediately, they ran into Bud and Harriet in the hallway. Frank handed AJ off to Harriet. "He's a little upset," he explained as AJ wrapped his arms tightly around his mother's neck. "Things were a little tense between Chloe and Mr. Brumby."

"He was asking about Mac again," Chloe added when Harriet turned her gaze towards her for a further explanation.

Harriet passed her son off to Bud, nodding her understanding. "I was going to find Mic anyway," she said. "We need to start making phone calls to cancel all the arrangements for the wedding."

"He's in the kitchen," Frank said, tilting his head in that direction. Harriet nodded and headed that way while Bud and Chloe exchanged an uncomfortable glance.

"I just wish …." Chloe said with a sigh, sitting down on a nearby bench. She looked up at Bud and Frank. "I don't know how much longer this can go on."

Frank sat down next to her, resting his elbows on his knees. "Chloe, do you remember what I said about Mac and the way Harm always talks about her?" he asked, trying to draw her out, hoping she realized that she could trust him.

"Yeah," she said softly, glancing up at Bud, not sure how much Harriet had told him. He nodded his encouragement and she admitted, keeping her voice down so as not to be overheard, "Mic doesn't know yet that Mac was going to call off the wedding anyway. Everything …. else happened before she could reach him to talk to him about it."

"Because she has feelings for Harm?" Frank guessed.

Chloe nodded in response. "They …. came to a realization, I guess," she said in vague explanation, "because they were about to lose each other. Harm was going to come home to her and they were going to try to work things out between them."

"See, you were right," Frank said. "Harm does have a lot to live for and that has to keep him going. When Sarah says that she still feels he's alive out there somewhere, I trust her implicitly. Maybe I don't want to believe that there might be any other outcome, but until I see evidence otherwise, I'm going to keep on believing that." He laughed, shaking his head. "I just realized that I sound a little like Harm, when he was so determined to find his father. Until he had proof that his father was dead, he refused to consider otherwise."

Chloe and Bud looked at each other, each attempting a smile. "I guess if Harm was here, he'd be the last to give up hope," Bud said. "It's one of the things that makes him such a passionate lawyer and a devoted friend."

"He's going to be okay," Chloe said, trying to sound as confident as her words indicated. "He's going to be okay, he and Mac will work things out with Renee and Mic, and then they'll work on fixing things with each other."

-----

To be continued…


	7. Chapter 7

OVER THE ATLANTIC OCEAN  
APPROX. 480 MILES ESE OF NORFOLK, VIRGINIA

_A storm tossed ocean and a single man, fighting for his life out in it_._ His arms thrashed heavily about as he struggled to remain afloat._ Mac jerked awake suddenly, banging her head on the window her head had been resting against. She rubbed the side of her head, blinking her eyes to clear the sleep from them.

"Are you okay, Mac?" Robert asked quietly.

She focused on the concerned face of Skates' fiancé next to her. "I guess I was dozing," she said, gazing out the window with tired eyes. The storm outside was finally over, but that didn't make the situation any less dangerous for Harm. "I was dreaming …. I saw Harm out there, fighting against the swells …."

Robert glanced down, not sure what to say, what comfort he could offer. The woman he loved was safe in sickbay aboard the _Henry_, recovering from her injuries. Mac didn't have the luxury of that knowledge. The last report they'd received from the carrier was that there was still no sign of Harm, nearly two hours after search and rescue had resumed. "I'm sorry," he finally said.

She glanced over at him and nodded. "Thank you," she said. She looked out the window again, trying to block the dream from her thoughts. "How far out are we?"

"I think I just heard the crew say we are at twenty nautical," he replied. "We should be landing in a few minutes. They said something about seeing the carrier out the forward windows."

Mac nodded, wishing there was more she could do. She couldn't remember feeling this helpless even when Harm had been trapped below decks on the _Suribachi_. At least then the Admiral had been able to affect the outcome, but they'd also known exactly where he was.

She brushed the threatening tears from her eyes and stared down at the photo album lying open in her lap. It was open to some photos from a JAG softball game several years ago. In one photo, he was standing at first base, having just gotten a hit. That one she'd taken from the dugout. In another, the two of them were high-fiving each other at home plate after they both had crossed the plate when Harm had hit a home run. She thought Harriet had snapped that photo. Full of life and laughter, that was how she wanted to remember ….

_No_, she thought, shaking her head. Thinking like that was akin to an acknowledgement that Harm wouldn't be coming home and she refused to think that. She was sure that if he was dead that she would feel it and she didn't feel it. If she closed her eyes, she could feel him with her, his arms around her, holding her tight. She could feel his tender touch, brushing the tears from her cheek, as he'd done before. That was the feeling she had to hold on to.

"Sir, Ma'am," the COD pilot said, turning his head towards them, "you need to make sure you're strapped in. We'll be touching down in a couple of minutes."

Mac snapped the photo album shut and stashed it back in her travel bag before checking the harness holding her in her seat. She glanced over at Robert, who offered her a weak smile of encouragement. She just wished that being aboard the _Henry_ would make her feel better, but the only thing that could do that would be to board that ship to find Harm waiting for her.

Involuntarily, her fingers tightened around one of the straps of her harness as the COD's tail hook caught the two wire on the deck of the _Henry_. She didn't think she'd ever get used to that feeling. Before her first visit to an aircraft carrier, she thought commercial landings could get bumpy. She smiled sadly as she remembered that first trip ….

-----

_USS SEAHAWK  
NOVEMBER 1996_

_"There she is, Ma'am," Bud said excitedly, pointing out the window of their COD at the aircraft carrier looming larger with every minute. "The USS SeaHawk."_

_"Coming home, Bud?" she asked, remembering that Harm had mentioned that Bud's last tour of duty had been as PAO aboard that carrier._

_"Yes, Ma'am," he exclaimed._

_She exchanged an indulgent look with Harm over Bud's head. She had to admit that the young man's enthusiasm was infectious. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been around anyone so wide-eyed. Her life thus far hadn't allowed much opportunity to interact with people like that. But in the last month she'd discovered that she was working with different kinds of people than she was used to._

_One of those different people being her partner. Her initial impression was confused, mostly owing to his odd reaction upon meeting her. The man had looked like he'd been sucker punched. Her second impression had been that he was cocky, overly confident and convinced that with his smile and charm he could get anything he wanted, including any woman._

_Fortunately for their developing friendship, it was the third impression that stuck with her. She'd held a gun on him and he still hadn't thought twice before offering to defend her uncle and spin things so that her own career was protected. He was willing to lay it all on the line for two people he barely knew. In that way, he reminded her a lot of her uncle._

_She was about to say something when she was suddenly jolted in her seat, grasping the straps of her harness as they came to a stop on the deck of the carrier. "What was that?" she exclaimed, eyes wide._

_Harm chuckled and shook his head. "I take it you've never been tail hooked before," he said with a trace of smugness._

_Arrogant pilot, she thought, mentally sticking her tongue out at him. He'd simply turned away, struggling to contain his laughter. It had only made her want to stick her tongue out at him for real …._

-----

She shook her head to clear it as she realized that Robert was calling her name, telling her that they were on the deck. "Sorry," she said, unstrapping her harness. "I was just …. thinking."

"I understand," he replied, gathering up the sea bag he'd brought with him. He realized how hard this had to be for her. He was stepping on board the ship and would get to see Beth. She was stepping on board …. to what? More uncertain waiting. He wouldn't have wished that on anyone.

"Thank you," she said softly. Despite his initial reaction when they'd met, he'd provided a friendly ear as they'd sat up overnight, unable to sleep while waiting for the COD which would take them to the carrier. She guessed it came from a shared experience, the fear over the fate of a loved one, even if he quickly found out this his fiancée was okay. He'd listened to her stories of the often wild times she and Harm had shared, laughed with her, and even shared some of his own stories of Beth. Honestly, it felt good to talk about Harm and her feelings for him without worrying about who might be hurt or how tangled things had managed to get. For the first time, everything had seemed so simple, so clear. She was in love with Harmon Rabb and it felt so good to be able to talk about it, especially with a practical stranger who had no preconceived notions of their relationship.

She picked up her own bags and stepped off the COD coming to attention at the sight of Captain Pike and a Lieutenant Commander wearing the insignia of the medical corps. She and Robert both came to attention and saluted. "Permission to come aboard, Sir?" Mac said.

"Permission granted, Colonel, Lieutenant Commander," Pike said. "I'm just sorry it had to be under these circumstances. This is Commander Reed. He's the doctor who treated Skates."

"How is she?" Robert asked, concern clearly etched across his tired features.

"She'll be fine, Commander," Reed replied. "She has a couple of broken ribs, some pulled muscles, a lot of bumps and bruises. She's resting down in sickbay. We'll probably observe her for few more hours, and then release her later today. A few days resting, then she should be free to return to duty with no problems. I'll escort you down to sickbay." He turned to Pike. "With your permission, Sir?"

Pike nodded, and then turned to Mac as Robert and Reed walked off. "Colonel," he said, "the Captain is waiting for us up in CIC. He thought you'd appreciate a status report."

"Thank you, Sir," she said, taking a deep breath. "I would." She silently followed him up to the combat information center, coming to attention again as they stepped in front of Ingles. "Colonel Mackenzie reporting as ordered, Sir."

"Colonel," Ingles greeted her, nodding. "As you were." He motioned them to a relatively quiet corner of CIC while Mac waited with baited breath. "As I'm sure you're aware, SAR went back out about two hours ago."

Mac nodded. She realized that Ingles was trying to break what ever news he had as gently as possible, but right now, she just wanted to know. "Sir …." she began.

Ingles nodded in silent acknowledgement of her desire to know now. "The Viking found an empty life raft approximately twelve miles from where Lieutenant Hawkes was picked up," he reported. He'd held this news back during the last communication with the COD. This was information he'd thought best imparted in person.

Mac turned away to stare out the windows at the now calm sea. _God, Harm_, she thought, blinking back tears. She barely registered his words as Ingles continued, pointing out that finding the raft at least confirmed that Harm had been able to eject, which had been a big question mark throughout the night. For all they'd known, they might have been chasing the ghost of a man who'd gone down with his plane. But all she could focus on was the fact that the raft had been empty. She may not have spent any extended time aboard Naval vessels, but she didn't need to have served a shipboard billet to understand what an empty life raft meant.

"The Viking dropped several sonar buoys around the area where the raft was found," Ingles said as Mac turned her attention back to what he was saying. "If he finds one, it will allow us to home in on him."

Mac silently digested the information. She didn't want to know what the odds were. She needed something to hold onto and as long as Ingles said nothing about the chances of Harm finding one of the buoys, of him even still being alive, then she had hope to hold onto. She slipped her hand into her jacket pocket and closed her fingers around Harm's wings. Finally, she turned back around, her eyes glistening brightly with unshed tears. "Thank you, Sir," she said, trying to inject her voice with the confidence she desperately wanted to feel.

"Colonel, I don't know if you're a religious person," Pike said, "but some of the Raptors have gotten together with Father Gilly, the ship's chaplain, to hold a service to pray for Hammer's safe return. I am heading down there myself …."

Mac hesitated. Religious was the last thing she would call herself, despite Mic's attempts to make them appear so as they'd prepared for their wedding. On the other hand, even if God had never really looked out for her, maybe he would see fit to watch out for Harm if she asked. If nothing else, she could do this much for him. After a moment, she nodded. "Yeah, I'll attend the service …. Sir," she said softly, remembering only as an afterthought to express the proper respect due a superior officer.

"If there's any word, Colonel," Ingles assured her, "you'll know right after we do."

"Thank you, Sir," she replied, coming to attention again. "I appreciate all that you're doing."

As Ingles watched Mac and Pike leave CIC, he shook his head, hoping that everything he was doing, all that the SAR crews were doing, would be enough to bring Harm home safely.

-----

As she walked into theship's chapel slightly behind Pike, she felt nearly every eye in the room on her. She tried to tell herself that she was imagining things. Everyone had stood and snapped to attention as the CAG had entered the room – of course everyone in the room was looking in their direction. But as Pike called 'As you were', she still felt the eyes, watching her. As she surreptitiously glanced around the room, she was sure she recognized many of the officers as members of the Raptors squadron who'd been around back when Harm had been, back when she'd prosecuted Buxton. To them, she was the enemy. She'd gone after one of their own.

A man standing by the front row of pews stepped up to them. "CAG," he greeted Pike, and then turned his attention to Mac. "Colonel Mackenzie, I don't know if you remember me …."

"Tuna," she remembered. "You were Harm's roommate when he served here." She shivered and pulled Harm's jacket tighter around her.

"Yes, Ma'am," he said. "Hammer spoke of you often and …. last night …." He struggled to find the proper words without getting too deep into personal matters which it was probably best to stay out of. He smiled weakly. "He was looking forward to the chance to …. Permission to speak freely, Ma'am?"

"Tell me," she said, granting him unspoken permission. "Please." Sensing their need for privacy, Pike stepped aside to speak with some of his pilots.

"Hammer was …. depressed, I guess," he said, "when he got here. I mean, he went out and did his quals – received the highest score of any pilot – but he took no joy in it. I didn't really get the chance to talk to him about it. But I saw him after he called you, Ma'am, as he was getting ready to leave the ship. He – he looked like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He indicated that you two had a lot of things to work out, but he sounded …. hopeful, Ma'am. He sounded hopeful."

She closed her eyes, willing the tears not to fall. _Please, let us have that chance_. She opened her eyes and tried to smile at Tuna. "Thank you for telling me," she said. "I think I needed to hear that."

Tuna held out his arm to her. "May I, Ma'am?" he asked.

She nodded and hooked her arm around his, allowing him to lead her to the front pew, where Pike was already seated. Tuna glanced around at the other pilots, his silent gaze telling them that she had just as much right to be there as they did. Some glanced away while others suddenly found something of interest in their hymnals.

Mac look down, studying her hands in her lap, twisting her Marine Corps ring on her finger, her bare left hand catching her gaze. It probably should have been odd to see the ring gone after so many months, but instead it felt like a weight had been lifted. There had been times – often after a look or a gesture from Harm – when it had felt like she was wearing the Rock of Gibraltar on her fingers. After her engagement party, it had been heavy and felt like it was burning her finger.

But now it was gone. She'd removed it for the final time as she'd prepared for bed after taking Chloe back to her hotel last night. After all the heartache, the ring slipped off her finger just as easily as it had slipped on back in December. This time, she was determined that, unlike the other day after she returned from Norfolk, the ring would not go back on her finger. It didn't matter what Mic wanted, what he would say to try to change her mind. This time, the only thing that mattered was what Sarah Mackenzie wanted and what she wanted could be summed up in two words – Harmon Rabb.

Tuna clasped her hand for a second and she looked up to see that the priest, a short graying man wearing a Navy khaki uniform with the silver oak clusters of a full Commander, had entered the chapel. With a bit of trepidation, she stood with the rest of the congregation.

"Please turn to the inside front cover of your hymnals and join in singing the Navy hymn, _Eternal Father, Strong To Save_," the priest said. Mac picked up a hymnal out of the seat pocket in front of her and flipped it open, her heart stopping in her throat as she glanced over the words. She was familiar with the song but had never really paid attention to the words. After the first line, she joined the singing in a shaky voice.

_Eternal Father, strong to save,  
Whose arm hath bound the restless wave,  
Who bidd'st the mighty ocean deep  
Its own appointed limits keep;  
Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee,  
For those in peril on the sea!_

_O Christ! Whose voice the waters heard  
And hushed their raging at They word,  
Who walked'st on the foaming deep,  
And calm amidst its rage didst sleep;  
Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee,  
For those in peril on the sea!_

_Most Holy Spirit! Who didst brood  
Upon the chaos dark and rude,  
And bid its angry tumult cease,  
And give, for wild confusion, peace;  
Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee,  
For those in peril on the sea!_

Mac was about to close her hymnal as the final verse trailed off when about half the room – all pilots as far as she could tell as she glanced around the room – quietly began singing another verse.

_Lord, guard and guide the men who fly  
Through the great spaces in the sky.  
Be with them always in the air,  
In darkening storms or sunlight fair;  
Oh, hear us when we lift our prayer,  
For those in peril in the air!_

-----

SOMEWHERE ON THE ATLANTIC OCEAN

He'd given up on trying to keep track of how long he'd been struggling on the vast ocean hours ago. All he knew was that it was now day and the storm had finally dissipated, the sun finally making its presence known. He kept his eyes closed. Between the salt water burning his eyes and the sun's blinding light, it was simply too painful. Everything was becoming too painful. His chest felt like it was on fire with every breath he drew into his lungs. It felt like lead weights had been tied to his arms and legs as he tried to move them to keep the circulation going.

It would be so easy. All he had to do was let go, just stop trying and never open his eyes again. Then all the pain would go away ….

_Since when did Harmon Rabb become such a defeatist?_ a soft, feminine voice asked.

He opened his mouth to speak, but his swollen throat couldn't form the words. _It's just too painful_, he thought.

_And do you really think it will be any less painful for those you'd be leaving behind?" _she asked.

Harm wasn't sure if the voice was just in his head. He opened his eyes partway, then squeezed them shut against the dazzling white light. Oh, yeah. He was all alone, out in the middle of the ocean. There was nobody there.

_Technically, you're right_, the voice said. _I'm a figment of your imagination. A hallucination. You're suffering from stage-four hypothermia. But if hearing voices will keep you fighting, then just keep listening to me. Keep listening and remember what you're fighting for – whom you're fighting for._

_Sarah_, he thought.

_Yes, Sarah,_ she said, a trace of sadness evident in her tone. _You've got another chance – the chance that you and I never had._

_You and I?_ he thought confused, struggling to concentrate. Suddenly, it came to him. _Diane._

He allowed her image to form in his mind – not his final image of her, bloodied and lifeless. This was an earlier image. She'd come up to visit him on his grandmother's farm when he'd been restoring 'Sarah' after his crash. He hadn't known she was coming – his grandmother had called and invited her up, thinking her presence might raise his spirits – and he'd been surprised when she stepped into the barn, the sun shining through the door behind her, making her look almost like an angel in her white sundress.

That had been when he'd started to acknowledge that maybe he wanted more with Diane than the close friendship and teasing flirtation they'd shared in the past, but there hadn't been time to pursue it then. Within a few weeks, she'd been reassigned to Naples and, shortly after that, he'd started law school. Although they'd kept up their contact over the next few years, they wouldn't have the opportunity to actually see each again until they planned to get together on her return from a tour of duty aboard the _SeaHawk_ ….

_Who else?_ she asked with an ironic laugh. _Kind of appropriate, don't you think? We wasted so much time and look what happened. I died before we could work things out between us. What did you tell Sarah – 'we missed more than we connected'? Do you really want Sarah to go through the same thing, tormented by what might have been if only the two of you hadn't wasted so much time, too?_

_I love her, _he thought, Diane's ghostly visage replaced in his mind by Mac's living one. She looked as she had on the Admiral's porch, tears in her eyes as they'd struggled – with their feelings for each other, with what they thought would be goodbye.

_I know,_ Diane said sadly. He felt a breeze against his cheek and wondered if that was his imagination, too, like the soft voice pleading with him. _You need to tell her what you never got the chance to tell me. Sooner or later, it will be too late, just like it was for us. And if you don't keep fighting, that time will come sooner. But you have to keep fighting._

_So hard …._ he thought, feeling himself start to slip away.

He almost smiled when he heard Diane sigh in his head, imagining her shaking her head at him. _I never thought I'd ever have to convince Harmon Rabb not to give up,_ she said. He could hear the exasperation in her voice and the familiarity of the tone gave him a warm feeling. Their personalities might have been as different as night and day, but like Mac, Diane rarely took any of his attitude. _What happened to the man who spent nearly thirty years looking for his father or the one who went after my murderer on the flimsiest of evidence?_

_He's been out on the ocean fighting for …._ The thought trailed off as he tried to remember. What time had he crashed? How long had it been since the sun had come up? _How long have I been out here?_

He heard her laugh, a beautiful bright sound he thought he'd never hear again. _I'm a product of your imagination, remember?_ she asked. _How am I supposed to know if you don't?_

_I don't know …._ He gasped, the sound sounding more like a croak through his cracked lips, as he bumped against something, startled more than hurt by the impact. He was too cold and numb to really feel much of anything. He'd been hitting things half the night as he floated amid the debris that used to be his Tomcat and he'd long since lost the ability to feel most of it.

_Here's your chance,_ Diane said. He swore he could feel her warm lips brush over his – or maybe it was just the breeze again. _Open your eyes._

_Can't,_ he thought. _Hurts too much._

_Damn it, Harm,_ she practically shouted. _Can you imagine what Sarah would think if she could see you right now, this close to giving up? What happened to the man who's never said die in his life, who's always pushed and fought until he got what he wanted?_

He almost felt like laughing at the admonishment, but he was too tired. _What is this, reverse psychology?_ he mused.

_Isn't that what you did to Sarah in the Appalachian Mountains?_ she asked.

_How'd you …. oh, yeah, you're in my head,_ he remembered. _And why do you keep calling her 'Sarah'? I don't …._

He could see her smile as clearly as if she really was standing in front of him. _Yes, you do,_ she said. _That's how you think of her. She's 'Sarah' in your mind, the woman you love. Now fight for her. Hold on just a little bit longer …._

Her image drifted from his mind as he felt a bump from being thrown against something again. He reached out and felt something hard sticking up out of the water. _Sticking up out of the water?_ Despite the pain, he forced his eyes to open, struggling to focus on the metal object in front of him. It took a few minutes for his vision to clear enough so that he recognized the object – a sonar buoy.

He summoned the strength to drape his arms around it, resting his head against it. Hold on, she'd told him. Now he had something to hold on to and …. there was something else, something shrouded in fog in the back of his mind. If only he could remember ….

Finally, the answer came to him. A radio. Many buoys came equipped with a voice transmitter, especially if they'd been dropped by one of the rescue aircraft that he was sure had to be somewhere overhead. He moved his hands slowly over the buoy until he found what might be controls for the transmitter. He blinked, trying to clear his eyes more so he could see the controls. After a moment, he thought he could make out what should be the on/off switch. Flipping it, he prayed that he could make himself heard.

-----

SOMEWHERE OVER THE ATLANTIC OCEAN

"Sir, I'm picking up something," Lieutenant Jenna Jenkins reported to Paddles. She turned to the veteran pilot, her expression hopeful. "It's from one of the sonar buoys we dropped when we found the raft, Sir."

"Let's here it," Paddles ordered. Jenkins flipped a switch on the Viking's radio, static filling the speakers.

"The radio's definitely been activated," Jenkins murmured. "But it's hard to hear anything."

They listened for another moment before Paddles' eyes widened. "Is …. there?" a barely detectible voice came over the radio. "This …. Commander …. is …. out there?"

"Thank God," Jenkins whispered.

"Triangulate our position and let's get a helo over here," Paddles ordered. "Lieutenant, looks like our prayers may have just been answered. City Desk, this is Viking. We have a signal and what sounds like a voice from one of the sonar buoys we dropped earlier. We're moving in to check it out."

"Location?" Ingles asked.

"35 degrees, 15 minutes north latitude," Paddles reported. "73 degrees, 28 minutes west longitude."

Ingles turned to the air boss. "What's the closest rescue helo to those coordinates?"

"There's a Coast Guard craft about five nautical from that position," he replied after a moment, having checked the electronic map for location of all SAR craft relative to the buoy's location.

"Have them stand by to move in," Ingles ordered. If they weren't chasing ghosts on this, he knew that every minute, every second, counted in getting Harm out of the water, In the background, he heard the air boss relaying the message to the helo while he awaited further word from Paddles.

Everyone in CIC seemed to be holding their collective breaths as the radio crackled and hissed, the sound broken by routine chatter from the Viking crew. After what seemed to be an intermittable wait, Jenkins voice was heard saying with barely concealed excitement, "We're over the buoy and it looks like he's down there hanging on."

Everyone looked at each other, hardly daring to hope. They all knew that finding him was only half the battle. After nearly nine hours in the water, it was still an uphill battle for survival, assuming that he was still alive. He could have tethered himself to the buoy somehow, and then …. They all listened as the Coast Guard helo moved into position and a frogman was lowered into the water. Finally, at 1248 Zulu, came four words that they'd been waiting all night to hear. "I've got a pulse," called the frogman into his radio.

Ingles briefly closed his eyes, inwardly relaxing just a little as the radio chatter continued as the frogman prepped Harm to be lifted into the helo. A few minutes passed, and then a transmission came to the carrier. "_Patrick Henry_, this is Coast Guard 195," the helo pilot said. "We've got your pilot and are en route. ETA twenty-two minutes."

"Understood," Ingles said. "We'll be waiting." He flipped on the ship's intercom and called sick bay. "Doctor Reed, the Coast Guard just picked up Commander Rabb, ETA twenty-two minutes."

"Understood, Sir," Reed said. He didn't have to ask Harm's condition. After nine hours in the water, he knew what he would likely be facing. "I'll have a team up on deck to meet them." Sick bay became a hive of purposeful activity as the Navy's equivalent of an emergency room trauma team leapt into action, preparing to receive their patient.

In one corner of the room, a dozing Skates was awakened by the sudden commotion and looked at Robert with a hopeful expression. "Do you think …?" she whispered hoarsely.

Robert motioned to a passing corpsman, who hurried over with a look of concern. "Are you in pain, Lieutenant?" she asked.

Skates shook her head gingerly, mindful of the headache pounding behind her eyes. She'd already been given something for that. "What's …?" she began, gesturing towards the rushing crew.

The corpsman managed a slight smile despite the gravity of the situation. "Commander Rabb was just picked up," she reported. "He should be down here in just under half an hour."

"Thank God," Robert breathed, clasping Skates' hand. Skates closed her eyes as a tear slipped down her cheek.

The corpsman moved off, satisfied that Skates didn't need any medical help, leaving the two alone. "Robert," she said fearfully, "he's been out there for nine hours."

"I know," he replied, trying to sound comforting. But it was hard. This was one of those times when ignorance would have been bliss. He looked down at their joined hands. "But he's apparently still alive or else why all the hustle? I guess now all we can do now is be thankful that he's come this far and have faith that he will make it the rest of the way. To hear you and Mac tell it, he's practically indestructible." He attempted to smile confidently, but it came off as obviously forced.

"Yeah," she said with a heavy heart. "Indestructible." But how long could he continue to be so?

-----

"Make sure he's securely strapped in," a Coast Guard corpsman ordered as the helo headed towards the carrier. "We don't want him to get jostled around any more than necessary. What's his temp?"

"Eighty-eight two, Chief," another corpsman replied. "Resps very shallow – it's hard to get an accurate read. He's lucky if he's getting eight a minute. Pulse is very weak …. thirty-two a minute."

_Warm and dead_, the Chief corpsman repeated in his mind. _Warm and dead._ It was the primary rule of thumb when dealing with hypothermia and near-drowning patients. A patient was not dead until they were warm and dead. A patient with a low body temperature was almost in a state of suspended animation. "Where are those blankets?" he demanded.

"Here, Sir," another crew member called out, tossing several blankets towards the Chief. One was draped over Harm's torso and legs, a second folded and placed over his neck, a third wrapped around his head. He kneeled next to Harm's head and noted Harm's pale face and blue lips.

"Commander, can you hear me?" he asked, close to Harm's ear. "I'm Chief Petty Officer Lengel. You're onboard a Coast Guard helo inbound for the _Patrick Henry_."

Harm opened his mouth to speak but couldn't make anything come out. He tried to clear his throat, but only succeeded in bringing on a fit of coughing. "Don't try to talk, Commander," Lengel said. "Just try to open your eyes for me. Can you do that for me, Sir?"

_Tired_, Harm thought, trying to open his eyes. But his lids felt like they were made of lead and he only managed to make them barely flutter open before giving up. "That's okay, Commander," Lengel said encouragingly. "At least I know you're still with us. We need you to stay awake. Can you do that?"

Harm made a gesture that Lengel took to be a nod. "Good," he said. His voice took on a Southern drawl as he tried to humor his patient. "Just hang in there and we'll get you fixed up right quick."

"Mmmm …." Harm moved his lips again, little more than a mumble coming forth.

"It's okay, Commander," Lengel said. "You don't have to say anything. Just try to stay with me, although if you want to try to laugh at my jokes, I won't object."

Harm gasped, frustrated. He slid a hand out from under the blanket and tried to grasp the Chief's wrist, but his hand fell limply back down onto the cot. Lengel pulled the blanket back over his hand. "You need to stay covered," he said. "You lose heat faster in your extremities."

"Uhhh …. 'arah," Harm gasped. Lengel leaned closer, trying to hear what he was saying. Finally, he was able to make out a single word. "Sarah." Clearly exhausted with the effort of saying just that little bit, his head rolled to the side.

"Commander, stay with me," Lengel said forcefully, resisting his first instinct to grab and shake him. For a hypothermic patient, that could be disastrous. Harm's eyelids fluttered, but he otherwise did not move. "Sarah? Is she your wife?" Harm managed to make a gesture that seemed to be a shake. "No? Your girlfriend?" He hesitated, and then barely moved his head up and down.

"Well, I'm sure she'll soon be informed that you've been rescued," he said reassuringly, "and you'll be able to see her once you're transported to shore."

"'ove …. her …." he mumbled.

Lengel smiled. It always helped when patients had something or someone to fight for. In seventeen years working search and rescue, he lost track of the number of people rescued whose first thought was for those at home worrying over their safety. "Soon, you'll be able to tell her yourself," he said confidently.

-----

Mac listened to the service in a daze. She was finding little comfort in the words of the priest or in the presence of Harm's fellow pilots, all of whom were clearly concerned. She didn't want to know how God would comfort her in her need. All she wanted was Harm – alive and, if not well, then on the road to recovery.

"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit," the priest said, making the sign of the Cross. Mac shook herself out of her reverie and hastily crossed herself, trying to focus on what the priest was saying, reminding herself that she should pray on Harm's behalf. But it wouldn't stop her from wanting to know why Harm and why now. "The Lord be with you."

"And also with you," everyone replied.

"I am the Savior of all people, says the Lord. Whatever their troubles, I will answer their cry, and I will always be their Lord," he continued in a soothing tone. "We come here today both in thanksgiving for the safe return of Lieutenant Elizabeth Hawkes and to ask for your comfort and aid as we pray for the rescue of Commander Harmon Rabb. Lord Jesus, we ask you to provide shelter to the lost until he is brought home to those who love him. Lord have mercy."

"Lord have mercy."

"Christ Jesus, show us your mercy and love in our time of trial. Christ have mercy."

"Christ have mercy."

"Lord Jesus, even when I walk through a dark valley, I will fear no harm for you are at my side. Lord, have mercy."

"Lord, have mercy."

"May almighty God have mercy on us, forgive us our sins, and bring us to everlasting life. Amen." As Father Gilly sat down, Tuna stood and smiled briefly at Mac before walking up to the lectern.

He opened the lectionary and stared down at the page, not really seeing the words. In his years in the Navy, he'd been fortunately enough to not know someone who had crashed – until now. And this time it wasn't just any acquaintance, but his former roommate. He blinked several times, finally clearing his vision and said in a halting voice, "A reading from the book of Psalms ….

"You who dwell in the shelter of the Most High, who abide in the shadow of the Almighty,  
Say to the LORD, "My refuge and fortress, my God in whom I trust."  
God will rescue you from the fowler's snare, from the destroying plague,  
Will shelter you with pinions, spread wings that you may take refuge; God's faithfulness is a protecting shield.  
You shall not fear the terror of the night nor the arrow that flies by day,  
Nor the pestilence that roams in darkness, nor the plague that ravages at noon.  
Though a thousand fall at your side, ten thousand at your right hand, near you it shall not come.  
You need simply watch; the punishment of the wicked you will see.  
You have the LORD for your refuge; you have made the Most High your stronghold.  
No evil shall befall you, no affliction come near your tent.  
For God commands the angels to guard you in all your ways.  
With their hands they shall support you, lest you strike your foot against a stone.  
You shall tread upon the asp and the viper, trample the lion and the dragon.  
Whoever clings to me I will deliver; whoever knows my name I will set on high.  
All who call upon me I will answer…."

Tuna's voice trailed off and everyone looked around, jumping up and snapping to attention when one by one they caught sight of Ingles standing by the door. Mac clenched the back of her pew, the gesture hidden by the sailors between her and the skipper. "Please," she whispered to herself, realizing that there was only one reason why he would no longer be monitoring the SAR efforts from CIC. She quickly pulled herself to attention when she realized that Ingles was coming towards her, forcing herself to meet his gaze unflinchingly.

Ingles kept his eyes on her, but spoke loud enough that the entire room heard him. "Commander Rabb was picked up about twenty minutes ago by a Coast Guard helo," he said as Mac squeezed her eyes shut, breathing a huge sigh of relief. Similar sighs were heard throughout the chapel. "They're inbound, ETA five minutes. He will be transported directly to sickbay. I know many of you will want to see him – Doctor Reed will inform the CAG when he is allowed to have visitors." Mac's eyes snapped open at that and she opened her mouth to protest, but Ingles cut her off. "I will escort you to sick bay, Colonel. After the doctor examines the Commander, he will want to talk to you. According to the Commander's medical records at Bethesda, you hold his medical power of attorney."

Mac stood there stunned for a moment before she remembered. Giving each other medical power of attorney went back to Appalachia and Mac's shooting. About a week after she'd been released from the hospital, she first broached the subject. If, in the course of their many travels, one or the other was injured, Mac said she wanted to know that the person she trusted most was making important decisions for her if she couldn't. Harm, still bothered at that point over his perceived guilt in her shooting, had resisted discussing the subject at first, then agreed. Thankfully, until now, they hadn't even come close to needing to invoke the agreement. She was also grateful that, in spite of everything that had happened between them personally and the fact that they rarely traveled together anymore, they'd never thought to revoke the powers of attorney. Finally, she nodded, "Thank you, Sir."

Silently, she followed Ingles out of the chapel, walking briskly behind him as they headed for sickbay. They were about halfway there when she decided to ask a question that had been on her mind since he announced Harm's rescue. "Sir, what do you know of Harm's …. Commander Rabb's condition?" she asked.

Ingles continued walking as he answered, "Colonel, that's probably a question best asked of Doctor Reed."

"With all due respect, Sir," she said, "the Coast Guard must have said something when they informed you that they'd picked him up."

Ingles stopped suddenly and turned to look at her. Mac studied him intently, but could find nothing in his expression that hinted at the answers she sought. Finally, he sighed and said, "The Commander was just barely hanging on, both literally and figuratively. They found him clinging to a sonar buoy the Viking had dropped in the area when they found his raft this morning. His pulse was reported to be very weak and he's severely hypothermic."

"So he's alive," she concluded, "but far from being out of the woods."

"That would be one way to put it, yes," he concurred.

"Then for now that's enough," she said firmly, squelching the voice in the back of her head that didn't feel nearly as confident. "If nothing else, Commander Rabb is a survivor." _He has to survive_, she thought, _so I can kick his six for scaring the hell out of me. _She swore she could hear him laughing at her threat inside her head.

-----

They hadn't even had a chance to approach Doctor Reed for introductions when the trauma team burst through the doors bearing the stretcher carrying Harm, Chief Lengel racing behind them, rattling off Harm's vitals and filling the Navy team in on what the Coast Guard team had already done for him. Gently, they transferred Harm onto a bed and Reed began examining his patient, barking orders to his team.

"Cut those wet clothes off him," he ordered, warming his stethoscope before sliding it under Harm's clothes to press it against his chest. After a moment of listening to his heart and lungs, he continued. "We need a warming blanket. Get an IV started, normal saline, heated to one hundred four, five cc's per kilogram per hour. Commander, can you hear me?" He swore under his breath when Harm didn't even move his eyelids in response. "Commander, we need you to stay with us."

Mac drew in a shaky breath as she listened, slowly stepping towards the head of the bed. Reed looked up at her and was about to order her out of the way when something in her expression stopped him. He nodded at her to continue. She bent over Harm, her mouth next to his ear. "Harm, it's Mac," she said firmly. "Come on. I need you to hang on. Listen to my voice. Damn it, that's an order, Commander."

Satisfied that he'd given the Navy corpsmen all the information he could, Lengel stepped over to Ingles. "Sir, have you been in contact with the Commander's family?" he asked. "On the helo, he kept trying to ask for someone named 'Sarah'. From what I was able to decipher from his gestures, she seems to be his girlfriend."

Ingles cocked his head towards the bed and Lengel followed his gaze to the Marine softly pleading with Harm to hang on, his eyes widening in surprise. When imagining the kind of girlfriend an aviator might have, the idea that she might be a Marine never entered his thoughts. Nor had he thought that she'd be aboard the carrier, waiting. He turned back to Ingles. "Sir, I don't know what's going to happen with the Commander," he said quietly, so as not to be overheard. "But on the helo …. I think he was trying to say he loves her. If …. well, maybe someone can tell her that, if he doesn't have the chance …."

Ingles nodded. "Thank you, Chief, for your assistance in rescuing the Commander," he said, silently declaring the previous subject to be closed. If all went well, he'd never have to relay the conversation.

"I hope …. you'll let us know how everything turns out?" he asked. Ingles nodded again. "With your permission, Sir?"

"Dismissed, Chief," he said, turning his attention back to the efforts to keep Harm alive. Occasionally, Mac's voice would rise and fall as she seemed to alternate between pleading with him and ordering him to hang on.

"Harmon Rabb, listen to me," she said, "you promised me. You promised that you'd return to me. Do you remember what you said when I made a comment about making promises that you can't keep? 'I haven't yet.' Don't you dare let this be the first. Come on, it's supposed to be our time now. Finally, after all the misunderstandings and miscommunications, we were going to get it right."

Her tears fell freely as she brushed her lips over his cold, blue ones, seeming to forget that they were far from alone, gasping at the chill of his skin beneath her touch. "Too bad that doesn't work in real life like it does in the fairy tales," she said ruefully, her voice dropping in volume again. "I've never really believed in them, but I began to wonder last night, as I went to bed knowing that you were coming home to me and that we were going to try to making things right. Were we going to get a chance at the 'happily ever after'?"

She tenderly brushed the back of her hand over his cheek. "Can you feel me?" she wondered. "Can you even hear me? Please, Harm, just give me some kind of sign that you're still with me. I need you to come back to me. I need you like I've never needed anyone or anything in my life and I know, even if you'd barely admit it, that you need me just as much."

An idea came to her and she stuck her free hand in her pocket, pulling out his wings. "Do you remember what you wrote when you gave me your wings?" she asked in a whisper. "Come back to me so you can tell me that in person and so I can give these back to you. I need to hear you say the words, as much as I need to say them to you." She rested her head against his forehead, jerking back up when she thought she heard a groan. _Maybe I just imagined it_, she thought when she detected no further response from him.

Sighing heavily, she was brushing tears from her face when she was sure she heard another groan from him. "Harm?" she said, trying to contain her excitement, her words nonetheless coming in a rush. "Can you hear me?"

Finally, he barely opened his mouth and managed to hoarsely whisper a single word, "Sarah."

"Yeah," she said tearfully. "It's Sarah. I'm right here."

"Dreaming …."

"No," she said, slipping her hand under the warming blanket and curling her fingers around his, carefully not to clasp his hand too tightly. She shivered at the chill in his fingers. "I'm here. I flew out here this morning with Skates' fiancée. Someone had to come and kick your six for scaring us all half to death."

Harm wanted to laugh, but it came out as a cross between a cough and a gasp for breath. "'s my Marine," he murmured, his voice slurred.

"Yeah," she said, smiling for the first time in hours. Normally, she'd probably take him to task for his possessiveness, but right now she didn't care. He could proclaim her his from the mountaintops if he wanted to. "I'm your Marine."

Harm summoned his strength and managed to utter the words she'd been waiting so long to hear from him. "Love you."

She cried out softly and pressed her lips to his again. This time, he managed to move his lips almost imperceptibly against hers. "I've waited so long …." she began as she pulled back, and then broke off, shaking her head. Now wasn't the time for admonishments. Later, she'd have plenty to say to him on that score. But not now. "I love you, too."

Harm drew in a shuttering breath and managed to open his eyes, trying to focus on the blurry, tear stained face above him. It tore at his heart. He hated to see his Sarah cry, especially if it was because of him, which it all too often was. No more. He promised himself that everything would be alright between them and he'd never give her cause to cry again. Nothing was going to come between them ever again. His words oddly distinct and firm, he finally focused his gaze on her and whispered, "Marry me."

-----

To be continued…


	8. Chapter 8

Exhausted from the effort it had taken to utter just that much, Harm closed his eyes again, his head rolling to the side on his pillow. Mac stared at him, her lips slightly parted in shock, unable to believe what she'd just heard. But had she heard it? Maybe she was just imagining things - or maybe he was. What if he didn't know what he was saying? She hated thinking it, didn't want to think it, but she had to be realistic. She thought she recalled from her basic survival training back during days and nights spent with her uncle at Red Rock Mesa that confusion and even hallucinations were symptoms of hypothermia. What if he didn't even realize that she was even there and was simply reacting to something going on in his head? After all, her presence wouldn't have been one he would have expected to find on the ship.

Before she could find the presence of mind to respond, Reed walked up on the other side of the bed, scribbling some notes in a folder. "Commander Rabb, are you still with us?" he asked.

Both Mac and Reed had to lean closer to hear Harm's weakly-uttered, "Yes …."

"Good," Reed said. "Try to hang with us a while longer, Commander."

"Tired …. cold …."

"I know," the doctor said gently, peeling back one of Harm's eyelids and shining a pen light in his eye. Harm tried to close his eye against the painful, blinding light. After checking his other eye, Reed clicked the light off and made a note in what Mac assumed was Harm's chart. She looked up at the doctor, but he ignored the unspoken questions in her eyes and concentrated on making some more notes. "We're doing what we can for the cold …. you're wrapped in a warming blanket and you've got a drip of heated saline to warm and re-hydrate you. Are you in any pain, Commander?"

He struggled to draw in a few gasping breaths before he finally croaked out a weak, "Numb …. lungs burn …."

"That's to be expected," Reed said, sounding reassuring, as if he'd been expecting that very response and knew what to do about it. But Mac ignored the tone and focused solely on the fact that Harm was hurting. She looked across the bed at the doctor with concern and a slight look of alarm. He launched into a more detailed explanation for Mac's benefit. "Initial exam reveals no sign of frostbite, which is good. But his temperature was eighty-eight point two when he was found, which is the reason for the numbness. He's too cold to even shiver. That should go away as his temperature starts moving upward. If he'd stayed out there much longer …" He trailed off at the increasing fear in Mac's expression and shook his head. It wasn't his job to deal with what could have been. He needed to focus on treating what was. "Anyway, the burning sensation when he breathes is due to all the salt water he must have inhaled out there in addition to the effects of the hypothermia. His lungs are irritated by the salt and the cold."

"Is pneumonia a concern?" she asked, gently stroking Harm's temple with the backs of her fingers, his skin like ice against hand. He probably couldn't even feel her touch, she realized, but the tender motion was helping soothe her.

Reed hesitated just a moment too long, which answered the question as far as Mac was concerned. "It's possible," he finally said, his tone not quite as reassuring. "We'll give him oxygen – warmed, of course – to help him breathe a little easier. His lungs don't sound too bad, so I don't think it will be necessary to suction them."

"What about other injuries?"

"There are some obvious bumps and bruises," Reed said, "the gash above his eye, some bruising around his ribs – probably due to the ejection itself. There isn't anything else that stands out, but there could be hidden injuries …."

"What do you mean 'hidden'?" she demanded, her voice rising slightly.

"Unfortunately, there are certain conditions, possibly resulting from the ejection," he explained, "which might not manifest themselves immediately. For instance, pilots who have ejected often complain of back pain resulting from compressed disks or even cracked vertebrae."

"What about multiple ejections?" she asked, her voice calmer although she was trembling inside as she realized the implications.

Reed looked from Harm, who was fighting to stay awake, to Mac with an incredulous expression. "The Commander's ejected before?" he asked.

Harm managed a slow nod as Mac explained, "This is his third ejection. He suffered a ramp strike ten years ago and his RIO ejected them out over the deck. The second was almost three years ago in, um …. " She hesitated, not sure how to explain that one. Certain details of that incident were still officially classified, although more people knew the truth behind the incident than made Clayton Webb – or the Russians – happy, especially after that _Washington Post_ article about Sergei at Christmas and the Russians' clumsy attempts to cover their tracks three years earlier with the story of the bird strike. Finally, she settled on a slight variation of the truth, her voice catching slightly as she remembered. "He was operating overseas and developed engine trouble and had to ditch." Under the blanket, she thought she could feel Harm's fingers trying to curl around hers in comfort and understanding of the unspoken truth of the incident. Mac smiled weakly in response.

"Hmm," Reed murmured thoughtfully. "Bethesda has transmitted Commander Rabb's medical records, but I haven't had the opportunity to do more than skim them for information on drug allergies and the like."

He motioned to a female corpsman who had just wheeled over a cart containing an oxygen tank. "Williams, Bethesda transmitted the Commander's medical records. Read through them and print out anything pertaining to his previous ejections in 1991 and 1998," he ordered.

"Aye, Sir," she replied, positioning the cart next to the bed before turning on her heel to carry out the doctor's orders. Reed turned back to Harm and Mac.

"It's hard to say," he said thoughtfully, "but the previous ejections could be a factor in how the Commander recovers from this one. You know, there is basis in fact in the saying that every time you punch out, you end up an inch shorter. Back problems are common in ejections and the fact that this is his third could increase the chances …."

"Doctor …." Harm whispered. He brought his free hand out from under the blanket and tried to grasp Reed's wrist before his arm limply fell back onto the bed. "Flight physical …."

Reed glanced away, realizing what Harm was trying to ask. After a moment, he looked back, his gaze sympathetic. "Like I said, it's hard to say," he pointed out. "Once you're out of the woods as far as the hypothermia is concerned and you regain your sense of feeling, we'll be able to get a better idea of where you stand as far as other injuries we might not be able to see." He stared at Harm for a long moment, and then glanced at Mac, before deciding to be completely honest. He didn't think either of them would appreciate any less. "I won't lie. There is a possibility that, as a result of the multiple ejections and compounded injuries, you may not be able to pass the flight physical."

Harm slowly turned his head away, closing his eyes, as Mac's gaze fell on his wings, still clutched in the hand that was tenderly moving over his temple. As much as she'd resented – yes, she realized, that was the right word – that he'd chosen flying over her before, she knew now that she loved the pilot in him as much as the lawyer. It was simply a part of what made him who he was. At least after his first crash, he'd still been physically capable of flying after he'd recovered from his crash injuries, even if it had only been during daylight hours. Now, he might not even have that. Nearly choking on the words, she whispered, "Thank you, Doctor."

As Reed moved off to confer with Ingles and Pike, Harm's eyes opened to the view of Mac's tear-streaked face hovering over his. "Sarah …."

"It'll be okay," she tried to assure him, with more confidence than she really felt. Her heart ached for him, for the pain not just physical that he must be feeling. Forcing a smile, she showed him her hand, opening her fingers to reveal the wings nestled on her palm. "When Captain Ingles called me and I asked to be allowed to come out to the ship, I told myself that I'd give these back to you." She slid her hand under the blanket and placed them in the palm of his hand, carefully closing his fingers around them as she dipped down and brushed her lips against his. As she lifted her head, a single tear fell onto his blue lips. He saw the tear fall, but couldn't feel it hit his chilled skin. "Hang on to them and believe that you can come back again. I have faith in you."

The corners of his mouth turned upward in an attempt to smile, but before he could say anything, they were interrupted by a male Lieutenant wearing the insignia of the nursing corps. "Excuse me, um, Colonel," he said, hesitating as his eyes searched out her rank insignia peeking out from under the collar of Harm's jacket. "I need to give Commander Rabb some oxygen."

She started to pull away so the nurse could work on him, pausing at the need she saw in his eyes. "It's okay," she assured him. "I'm not going anywhere. Let them take care of you."

"Have …. talk," he said, his expression pleading.

Talk about what? What she'd thought she heard him say earlier? She hesitated some more, not sure if she was ready to deal with any of it, at least not yet, even if he'd said what she thought he did. There was still so much unsettled, so much that needed to be straightened out. This was far from the best time for that kind of discussion. "We will," she finally promised, leaning over and brushing her lips against his cheek. He turned his head fractionally so that her warm lips caught the corner of his mouth. "Later." Still holding his hand, she moved away from the head of the bed so the nurse could work.

Meanwhile, Ingles, Pike and Reed, who had been conferring on the other side of the room to allow the couple at least a little privacy, stepped up to the bed. "Commander Rabb?" Pike asked, concern obvious in his tone.

Harm managed to open his eyes, turning his head fractionally in acknowledgement, and then closed them again. Pike nodded in understanding and patted Harm's shoulder while Ingles looked at Mac, whose gaze was focused solely on Harm, across the bed. "I am going to call Admiral Chegwidden in a few minutes, Colonel," Ingles asked. "Doctor Reed is going to give him a rundown of the Commander's condition and I'm sure he will want to speak with you." When she didn't respond immediately, seeming to not even realize that he was there, he tried again in a firmer tone of voice, "Colonel?"

It took Mac a moment to realize that Ingles was speaking to her and she lifted her head, swallowing hard. He would be well within his rights to rebuke her for her conduct. "I'm sorry, Sir … I …."

"I thought you would like to join us when I call Admiral Chegwidden," he repeated, ignoring her breech of protocol. It was understandable that she was distracted. It had been a long night for everyone, but especially for her. "He will want to talk to you, I'm sure."

Mac swallowed again, her fingers tightening almost imperceptibly around Harm's. She'd known this would happen sooner or later, that the time would come when she would have to start explaining everything – or try to. She'd tried not to think about it, but she realized that A.J. had to know by now where she was, either through supposition or having read her e-mail. One of the last things she wanted right now was to talk to her CO, but she couldn't tell Ingles that. If she didn't agree now to speak to A.J., he would probably just tell Ingles to order her to the phone and even if Ingles was willing to overlook her lack of decorum, he would hardly ignore a direct order from a two-star.

Harm stirred when he heard A.J.'s name and forced his eyes to open, struggling to focus on Mac. Sensing his gaze, she turned and looked down at him and he tried to make sense of her expression. He couldn't be sure – it was so hard to concentrate and focus – but she seemed worried about something and for some reason, he thought it had something to do with speaking to A.J. What he couldn't understand was why. Maybe she was just embarrassed about the wedding having been cancelled on such short notice and wasn't up to answering questions about it, he thought. But surely she knew better than to expect too many pointed questions from their CO. From the others, maybe, but not from him. He tried again to curl his fingers around hers, but they were so cold. After a moment trying to force them to move, he gave up with a sigh and gave her a look he hoped conveyed his support and his love.

Reed took her hesitation as an unwillingness to leave Harm's side, so he told her, "Communications is patching the call down here to my office. We'll just be at the other end of sickbay."

She looked down at Harm for a long moment before she finally nodded and said softly, "Okay. I'll speak to him, Sir." She moved back to the head of the bed, to the space just vacated by the nurse. "I'll be back in a few minutes," she said, placing a gentle kiss on his cheek.

He smiled at her, an expression she could just barely make out through the oxygen mask covering his nose and mouth, as he realized that he actually could feel her lips against his skin. Just barely, but he could feel her. He nodded once in understanding and his eyes drifted closed again.

-----

Mac was seated in a chair in front of Reed's desk, nervously strumming her fingers against her leg while they waited for the ship to shore connection to be made. Her eyes fell on the now bare ring finger of her left hand. When Mic had proposed to her, he'd pulled out all the stops – his dress whites, a ferry ride across moonlit Sydney Harbor, dinner at one of the fanciest restaurants in Sydney at a table with a spectacular view of the harbor. It had been very flattering. That was the problem. It was too flattering. It had made her feel so loved and cherished and, she now realized, she'd fallen in love with the romance of it all and, against her better judgment, she'd allowed him to place the ring on her finger despite, even as she protested weakly, knowing that it wasn't right. Mic Brumby was a good man and would make any woman a fine and devoted husband. Just not her. Being in love with the fairy tale was nothing to base a life-long commitment on – it was simply an illusion which would eventual vanish under the weight of trying to make a marriage that never should have been work.

By contrast, Harm's proposal would appear to most people to be nothing special. He was lying in a hospital bed, hadn't come up with any flowery words and phrases – in fact, could barely speak at all, didn't even have a ring to place on her finger. But with just two softly spoken words, he'd reached deep inside and touched her heart in a way no man ever had before.

But what if it was just an illusion, too? How could she be sure right now that Harm knew what he was saying? Even if Harm did know, how could he be sure what he was feeling? After years of dancing around and away from each other, surely it was impossible that one horrifying night could turn things so completely around for them. Hadn't she been telling Harriet and Chloe just last night that she needed time to figure out Sarah Mackenzie? Now Harm had thrown it all up in the air by offering her everything she'd ever wanted from him. There was a part of her that wanted to grab what he was finally offering her and hold on to it with all of her might. The rest of her was terrified that it would all fade away in the blink of an eye like a desert mirage. If only she knew ….

She shook herself out of it when she realized the phone connection had been made and Ingles was talking to A.J. "Are you alone, Admiral?" Ingles asked.

"Yes," A.J. replied. "Most are having a late breakfast; some are trying to get some more sleep. I take it there's news?"

"Commander Rabb was picked up about an hour ago by a Coast Guard helo," Ingles explained. Sitting at his desk, A.J. breathed a heavy sigh of relief, wearily rubbing his tired eyes. "I've got Commander Reed, our chief medical officer, to explain the Commander's condition. I've also got Colonel Mackenzie here."

"Colonel, how are you doing?" A.J. asked. There was more he wanted to say to her, but not with others present.

"I'm …. hanging in there, Sir," she replied, twisting her Marine Corps ring on her finger.

Satisfied with her answer, if only for the time being, he next addressed the doctor. "Doctor Reed, how is he?" he asked.

"Commander Rabb is suffering from stage-four hypothermia," he explained. Ingles had already explained that A.J. was a former SEAL and wouldn't appreciate anything being withheld in the reporting of Harm's condition and would probably understand more than most just how grave Harm's condition was. "When he was picked up his body temperature was eighty-eight two and he was just barely hanging on. I honestly don't think he would have lasted much longer out there. Fortunately, initial exam doesn't give any indication of significant crash-related injuries, so that works in our favor."

"So what now, Doctor?" A.J. asked, leaning back in his chair, already planning in his mind how he would break the news, both good and bad, to everyone anxiously awaiting word.

"He's wrapped in warming blankets, being given a drip of warmed saline to re-hydrate him and warmed oxygen to help ease his breathing," he continued. "His breath sounds aren't too bad, so there doesn't seem to be a significant amount of water in his lungs, but we are keeping a watch for signs of pneumonia. Once some of his sense of feeling returns, we'll be able to better assess his condition, including potential back problems brought on by the ejection. My understanding is that this is the Commander's third ejection, which could be a factor in his recovery, at least from any physical injuries."

"That would unfortunately be correct," A.J. said, turning in his chair to stare out his window. The storm had finally broken and the sun was beginning to peek out through the clouds. Maybe that was an omen, if he believed in such things. Or maybe not. "How could this affect the Commander's flight status?" As disappointed as he'd been when Harm had previous chosen flying over JAG, he didn't want to contemplate the man who would be left if flying were taken away from him, for good this time.

"Commander Rabb has already asked me the same thing," Reed said. "We won't know for a while, but given his history, I'd say he's facing an uphill battle in passing the flight physical for quite some time, if ever."

"And you've told this to the Commander?" A.J. asked, trying to keep the worry out of his voice.

"I have," Reed confirmed.

"I see," A.J. said. No matter the mess that had been left behind in Washington, he was privately glad that Mac was out there with Harm. If anyone could help Harm keep his head through this, if that was at all possible, it was her. There were times, he was sure, that she was the only one who could reach him and keep him steady. "When will he be transferred to shore?"

"Right now, since there aren't any injuries of note that we have to be concerned about," he replied, "it's in the Commander's best interests to remain here until we have the hypothermia under control. It would be counterproductive to subject him to another ride in a helo until his temperature is back above ninety-five degrees. Right now, if all goes well, I'm looking at keeping him here overnight just to play it safe and having him transferred to Portsmouth tomorrow morning. Then after a few days, he can probably go home."

"I'm sure the Commander's family will be glad to hear that," A.J. said. "I'll let everyone know. There'll probably be quite a crowd at Portsmouth tomorrow to greet him when he arrives."

Mac stifled a gasp at that as she suddenly realized that Renee would be there, still thinking that Harm was hers, and Mic would be there, probably thinking that the wedding had just been postponed. She now had approximately twenty-four hours to figure out how she was going to explain everything. She tuned out everything going on around her, suddenly overwhelmed with the knowledge of what she'd done, until she felt Reed's hand on her shoulder. Startled, she jerked her head around to face him. "I'm going to check on Commander Rabb," he said. "After you finish talking to your Admiral, might I suggest that you try to get some sleep? Something tells me that you've been up all night."

"I don't really want to leave Harm right now," she said quietly.

"We've got room down here," Reed compromised, "and some cots that the medical staff uses when they're pulling all-nighters. We can pull one in next to the Commander's bed for you."

"Thank you, Doctor," Mac said gratefully. Ingles and Reed walked out of the office, leaving her alone to face the music with A.J. She was silent for a long moment, not sure what to say or even if she should say anything. Maybe it was best to let him do the talking and just say 'Yes, Sir' and 'No, Sir' at appropriate times.

Eventually, A.J. broke the silence. "Mac, how are you really?" he asked, adopting a more familiar form of address, letting some of his concern show in his voice.

"He's so pale …. and so cold," she whispered, A.J. straining to hear her. "He's having a hard time talking and if you listen closely to his breathing, you can hear him struggling for breath."

"Mac, I wasn't asking about Harm," he said gently. "I've seen a few hypothermic sailors in my day, so I can guess pretty accurately how he's doing. I want to know how you're doing."

"I don't know, Sir," she said after a moment, shrugging although the gesture was wasted. "I don't know what to say. I know things are probably a mess right now."

"I'd say that would be an understatement, Mac," A.J. said, sighing, keeping the censure out of his tone. There was more than enough blame to spread around in this situation if he felt like being judgmental, but she didn't need that right now. "Brumby's walking around talking about when the two of you are going to reschedule the wedding – at least when he's not pressing everyone, asking if they've heard from you."

"From the way you just said that," Mac said, "I take it you know there isn't going to be a wedding."

"I suspected as much when you disappeared, even before Harriet confirmed it," he replied. "You do realize that this puts me in an awkward position every time Brumby asks if I've heard from you."

"I know and I'm sorry, Sir," she said. "I know you're caught in the middle here, but with all due respect, Sir, I can't think about any of that right now. The man I love …. I'm sorry, Sir. I'm really tired right now and not really thinking." She swallowed, unable to believe that she'd admitted to her commanding officer, of all people, what she'd barely been able to admit to herself before a few days ago or to Harm before today.

She had it right the first time, A.J. reflected silently. Unfortunately, finally admitting her true feelings was likely to open the largest can of worms. Who could have possibly foreseen this when he'd first told them not to get to close when they first met or when he told Harm not to look back in Australia? He realized that many commanders would have taken a hard line with the entire situation a long time ago. But he wasn't most commanders, nor were they like most subordinates. Even if he rarely said so aloud, they were friends – hell, almost like family, he thought. "Sounds like you're thinking just fine, Mac," he said. _For a change_, he added silently.

Mac took a deep breath and started again. "Harm is far from out of the woods and I can't concentrate on anything else right now," she said. "I know I have a lot to explain to Mic and I'm sorry that this is going to hurt him …. and you're not really the person I should be telling that to, Sir." She chuckled ruefully. It seemed so easy to say it to A.J. Too bad it wasn't quite so easy to admit her true feelings to Harm and Mic.

"Remember what I said on the _Suribachi_?" A.J. asked, ignoring the part about Mic. Not that he didn't care, but she was right. He wasn't the person that she needed to say that to.

"That Harm's too stubborn to die?" she said. At least then they'd known exactly where Harm was, nor had he been trapped as long as he'd been last night. She pushed the thought from her mind, trying to concentrate on the fact that at least Harm had been found now. At least she was here to remind him to fight. "I remember."

Satisfied that she would try to keep remembering that, he didn't push the issue. "About Mic …." he began.

"Sir, I don't want to put you in the middle," she interrupted, "but could you just tell him …."

"Colonel," A.J. cut in firmly, his tone and sudden change to a formal mode of address letting her know that it would probably be best to go along with whatever he was about to say, "talk to him. I'm not going to presume to tell you what to say to him. If you chose right now not to tell him where you are or tell him anything, that's up to you. I won't interfere. But if he hears your voice, then maybe he'll stop harassing everyone about whether they've heard from you."

She closed her eyes, sighing heavily. The absolute last thing she wanted right now was to talk to Mic, but from A.J.'s tone, she knew she didn't have much choice. Anyway, it wasn't right to let him keep pestering her friends about her whereabouts. Dealing with Mic should be her burden to bear alone. At least if he heard from her, it would stop the harassment of her friends. "Okay," she said quietly, her tone reluctant. "I'll talk to him for a few minutes."

"Just a minute," A.J. said. He went over to the door leading to the bullpen and opened it, glancing around until he caught sight of Mic standing near Mac's office by himself, seemingly staring off into space. At that moment, Mic turned his head and noticed A.J., walking over to him.

"Mac's on the phone," A.J. said quietly. Mic started to move past A.J. into the office, but A.J. held up his hand to stop him. Out of concern for Mac and her state of mind, he thought that maybe he should break one of his personal rules and interfere, just a little. "Just a minute, Mic. Mac's very worried right now and she's trying to deal with this the best she can."

"What are you trying to say, Sir?" Mic said, barely remembering in time just whom he was addressing and moderating his tone. He rubbed his eyes wearily and A.J. felt a pang of sympathy for the other man. He'd just spent a sleepless night because he wanted to support his fiancée, whose best friend had been missing, unaware that he'd lost his fiancée to that friend.

"I'm just saying to be patient with her," he said. "This night's been a long night for everyone."

Mic stared at A.J. for a long moment, reminding himself that he couldn't just tell A.J. to mind his own business, and then finally nodded. A.J. let him into the office and closed the door behind them. He considered leaving to allow them some privacy, but decided against it. Maybe his presence would help keep things as calm as possible. "Mac," A.J. said into the air, Mic frowning as he realized that the phone was set to speaker and that A.J. had no intention of leaving, "I've got Mic here."

A.J. sat back down in his chair and motioned to Mic to take a seat himself, but the other man remained standing, crossing his arms over his chest almost defiantly, although his tone was far from it when he spoke. "Hello, beautiful," he said.

"Mic," she said simply, hoping her voice didn't betray her nervousness.

"Tell me where you are, Sarah," he said. "I'll come pick you up and bring you back here with all your friends."

A.J. resisted the urge to sigh. That wasn't quite what he'd meant by showing patience. Mac did sigh audibly before replying in a gentle, placating tone, "Mic, I need to be alone right now. Please respect that." A.J. thought he could detect a slight tremor in her voice, but Mic didn't seem to pick up on it.

In fact, he seemed to completely disregard what Mac was saying as he protested, "Sarah, you need to be here with people who love and support you."

It was on the tip of her tongue to counter that she was with the person whose love and support she needed most, but she managed to refrain from saying it just in time. She didn't want to argue with him over the phone. The recriminations would probably come soon enough – far too soon. But she didn't need it right now on top of everything else she was trying to deal with. "I'm sorry, Mic," she said, her voice starting to noticeably break. "I just can't right now."

They heard a click, then a dial tone, indicating that she'd hung up. A.J. pressed the speaker button to hang up the phone as Mic turned around with a sigh, staring at the painting of Admiral Halsey on the wall without really seeing it. "We're supposed to be getting married," he said in frustration, more to himself than to A.J. "Why won't she let me in?"

"What can I say, Mic?" A.J. said, his tone revealing nothing. "She's dealing with it in her own way."

Mic turned back around, bracing himself against the back of one of the chairs in front of A.J.'s desk. "That's what worries me," he admitted. He looked at A.J. with a hopeful expression as an idea occurred to him. "Sir, did she say where she is?"

"No," he replied. Technically, it was true. She didn't say during the phone call where she was. He'd already known that. Anyway, if she'd been somewhere in Washington, what did Mic think he was going to do – go find her and bring her back to JAG when she didn't really want to come? "I'm sorry, Mic. All you can do is wait until she's ready to talk about it." He was sorry. Mic was a good man. It wasn't his fault that he'd met Mac two years too late to have any chance of truly capturing her heart, although he wasn't entirely sure that timing would have made a difference.

Mic shook his head. He didn't like hearing that from A.J. anymore than he'd liked it earlier when Harm's grandmother had suggested something similar. But he couldn't say that, even if A.J. wasn't his commanding officer anymore. "Thank you, Sir," he said. "I guess that's all I can do then – wait. I just …. I wish she would just let me in."

A.J. didn't say anything else. They were getting very close to his touchy-feely quotient, plus he wasn't sure that any comfort he might offer wouldn't be wasted on a man who was unaware that he watching what would have been the happiest day of his life go up in smoke. "Let's go back out into the bullpen," he suggested. "Just before I spoke to Mac, I had a conversation with the skipper of the _Patrick Henry_."

"There's been news?" Mic asked hopefully. At A.J.'s nod, he continued, "Did you tell Sarah?"

"Yes, Mac knows what I was told by Captain Ingles," A.J. replied, carefully phrasing his answer so that it was technically true, but didn't reveal any more than it had to.

"Then why …." Mic began, trailing off with a frustrated sigh. If Harm had been found, then there was no need for Sarah to be so upset and shut herself off. He glanced at A.J., hoping to get an indication of whether the news was good or bad, but A.J.'s expression was carefully neutral.

"All I'll say right at this moment is that this is far from over," A.J. said as he opened the door and stepped out into the bullpen. Mic shook his head as he followed him out, wondering what he was supposed to do now. If Harm's medical condition was tenuous, as A.J. seemed to hint, then Sarah would be unlikely to want to even think about the wedding, if her behavior over the night was any indication. He wished he could just tell her that she needed to let Renee and Harm's family worry about his condition while they concentrated on the logistics of rescheduling their wedding. However, given the way she'd hung up on him when he'd simply suggested that she needed to be with her friends, he suspected her reaction to that suggestion would be even worse. What the hell was he supposed to do, he wondered with a frustrated sigh, leaning back against the bookcase near A.J.'s office door.

A.J. glanced around, mentally taking a head count, motioning to Gunny. "Go find everyone."

Although he realized from A.J.'s tone that there was news of some kind, Gunny didn't waste time asking questions, just tossed off a hasty "Yes, Sir," before motioning to Tiner to follow him and taking off at a brisk walk in search of everyone. As the two enlisted men left the bullpen, they nearly ran over Chloe and baby AJ, who were coming in.

Chloe watched their retreating forms, and then turned to A.J. with an expression crossed between hope and trepidation. "Admiral?" she asked hesitantly, afraid to say more, afraid of what the answer might be.

"Let's wait until everyone else arrives," he suggested, smiling gently at her to put her at ease. She visibly exhaled as she sank into a nearby chair, pulling baby AJ into her lap. The boy, who had not gotten much more sleep than the adults around him, yawned as he leaned back in Chloe's arms, resting his head against her chest. His eyes fluttered closed, but popped open a moment later, as he fought off the exhaustion creeping up on him.

From his position, Mic watched the two of them, his expression carefully guarded. He thought that he should say something to Chloe, but he was frustrated at being constantly rebuffed by her. Even baby AJ seemed to sense that what was going on around him had something to do with his godfather and it seemed that every other sentence out of his mouth had something to do with Harm, even if half of what he was saying was lost in the unintelligible babble of a two-year-old.

Not long after he'd woken up, Mic had taken the boy onto his lap, more to try to ease some of his own tension rather than because AJ was begging to be held. They'd sat quietly for a moment, AJ waving around a plastic toy airplane firmly grasped in one hand, making rough engine noises. Mic smiled, running his hand over AJ's hair, silently admiring the resiliency of youth.

Then he'd made the mistake of commenting that it was a nice airplane. He couldn't understand about half of what AJ said, but he did make out two words very clearly – Uncle Harm. He should have figured that Harm had given AJ the airplane. Mic had fallen silent after that, despite AJ's attempts to talk to him. It wasn't the boy's fault, but the last person Mic wanted to talk about was Harm, even with a two-year-old who couldn't understand why the topic was so uncomfortable.

"Still frustrated with the way Mac's sister has been ignoring you?" Renee asked, taking up position next to Mic, following his gaze.

"Actually, I was thinking about AJ – baby AJ, that is," he said. "Even he realizes that something is going on with Rabb and it seems half of what he goes on about has something to do with his godfather. I just wish I didn't have to listen to everyone go on and on about Rabb." He ran his hand through his hair, his expression apologetic, as he realized what he'd just said and whom he'd said it to. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that to you."

Renee shrugged it off. "It's no big deal," she said. "It's been a long night, we're all tired, and at least you're being honest about your feelings. Everyone keeps telling me they're sorry that Harm is missing, and I'm sure they are, but somehow I feel it would be different if Mac was the one they were saying that to. You know, I'm surprised that without Mac here, you stuck it out with us the entire night."

"I'm not a heartless bastard," he protested. "I hope Rabb will be okay."

"I never thought you were," she said, shaking her head. "I'm sure you're just as anxious as anyone for Harm to be found safe and sound. Once he's safe, then you and Mac can get married and life can go on. We both want the same thing there."

"I'm surprised you're not with Rabb's mother," he commented, seeing Trish come into the bullpen with Frank, her arm around his waist, his casually draped over her shoulder. That's what he wanted to do for Mac, to put his arm around her and let her know that everything would be okay. He had to admit that Harm's parents seemed to have a wonderful marriage. That was what he wanted for himself and Mac. "You two seem pretty friendly."

"About half an hour ago, Frank suggested she take a walk with him around the grounds," she explained. "It seemed clear that I wasn't invited. I don't think he likes me very much."

"He doesn't know you," Mic pointed out.

"Let's put it this way," she said. "He's gotten pretty friendly with your future sister-in-law and has barely spoken to me. You saw them in the kitchen. Remember what you said about being tired of everyone going on about Harm. You know what I'm tired of? I've had it with everyone going on about how upset Mac must be and how close she and Harm are."

"Feeling a little left out?" he asked. She nodded, although the question had been a rhetorical one. "We're members of this family by association only. They've all closed ranks around each other and we're left on the outside looking in. You know, when Sarah called, the Admiral wouldn't even leave his office so I could speak to her privately."

"Mac called?" she asked. "When?"

"Just a few minutes ago, after he spoke to Captain Ingles," he replied. "I asked where she was so I could go get her and bring her back here. She said she needed to be alone, I protested and she hung up."

"I'm sorry," Renee said, placing a hand on his forearm. "But if the Admiral's about to tell us that Harm's been found, then this is all going to be over soon and she can snap out of her mood."

"That's the thing," Mic said carefully, not sure how much he should say. Although he couldn't be positive, he was pretty sure from reading between the lines of what A.J. had said that Harm had been found, but the news wasn't entirely good. "The Admiral seemed to indicate that Rabb's got some recovery time ahead of him and Sarah already knows this. Since she called after he spoke to Ingles, he told her whatever the news is about Rabb."

"Wait a minute?" Renee demanded, trying to keep her voice down even as it took on a sharp edge. "I asked Gunny what the news was and he just said to come to the bullpen. He wouldn't tell me anything, but the Admiral has already told Mac? I'm his girlfriend. Don't I deserve to know? Or what about his mother?"

"Gunny doesn't know," he said in a calming tone, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "The Admiral just told him to get everyone together. The Admiral is the only one that I'm aware of who knows Rabb's condition. Him …. and Sarah."

Before Renee could argue further, A.J. took up position in the middle of the bullpen. He didn't waste time with preliminaries, merely launched into the news. "Commander Rabb was picked up by a Coast Guard helo about an hour ago and transported to the _Patrick Henry_," he said. He paused a moment while everyone expressed their relief before continuing. "He is suffering from hypothermia, but his physical, crash-related injuries seem to be minimal. The medical team aboard ship is stabilizing him, and then they plan on keeping him aboard overnight and transporting him to the Naval hospital in Portsmouth tomorrow morning. If all goes well, he'll be released to come home perhaps by mid-week.

"Now, before any of you ask," he continued, glancing around the room, "I don't know at what time the Commander will be transferred. Once I know, I will let everyone else know, although I suggest my officers keep in mind if you're thinking about going to the hospital to see the Commander that it's over three hours one-way to Portsmouth, tomorrow is Sunday and you do still have to report for duty Monday morning. For now, there's nothing else anyone can do, so I suggest everyone go home and get some sleep."

As everyone began gathering in little groups to share their relief, A.J. walked up to Trish, Frank and Sarah. "Mrs. Rabb, Mr. and Mrs. Burnett," he said, "have you had a chance to make hotel reservations?"

"We made arrangements to leave San Diego so hastily that we didn't even think about it," Frank said. "And I know Sarah didn't consider it either when Gunnery Sergeant Galindez and Petty Officer Tiner picked her up. I was hoping to use one of your phones to call around to some places."

A.J. glanced at his watch. "Even when you do find room," he said, "it's still a little early for most hotels' check-in time. I've got room at my place if you'd like a place to stay."

"Are you sure we wouldn't be imposing, Admiral?" Trish asked.

"Of course not," he insisted. "I live alone and have more than enough room for guests."

Frank glanced at his wife and her mother-in-law, and then answered, "Then we accept, Admiral. Thank you."

"I just have some things to get out of my office, and then I'll be ready to leave," A.J. said. "I assume you have a rental car?" Frank nodded. "Then you can follow me out of here."

A.J. turned for his office, stopping when Trish called out suddenly, "Admiral?"

"Yes, Mrs. Burnett?" he asked, turning back around to face them.

Trish looked around to make sure no one else was nearby, and then asked, "How bad is Harm, really? I sensed that you were holding something back when you announced that Harm had been found."

Frank jumped in before A.J. could reply, "Now, Trish, I'm sure the Admiral has told us everything he knows and since we're going to his house, we'll know immediately if he hears anything else from the carrier."

Trish whirled on her husband, her arms crossed over her chest, her bearing determined. "Don't 'Now, Trish' me, Frank," she insisted firmly. "You think I didn't notice you and the Admiral closing yourselves off in his office just after we got here? Admiral, I suspect that you didn't hold anything back from my husband when he asked. I would appreciate it if you'd do the same for me."

"Admiral, Trish will just keep after you until you tell her," Sarah added. "And if she doesn't, I will."

A.J. shook his head, chuckling ruefully. At the startled looks from the others, he explained, "I was just realizing that Commander Rabb comes by his stubbornness honestly." His expression turned serious as he perched on the edge of a desk behind him. "I spoke to the chief medical officer aboard the _Henry_ when I was told that the Commander had been found. There don't appear to be any significant crash-related injuries, that is true, although right now, he is very cold and numb, so there may be conditions – such as back pain – which they may not realize exist until the Commander warms up. Right now, the main concern is the hypothermia. His temperature was in the upper eighties when he was pulled out of the water. The, um, consensus seems to be that due to the length of time he'd been out there, the cold, his exhaustion, that he probably would not have lasted much longer if he hadn't been found when he was, especially since he'd either been thrown from or hadn't been able to get into his life raft. It had been found empty a few hours before he was located."

Trish and Sarah both paled, but Trish's voice was calm and firm when she said, "Thank you, Admiral. I appreciate your honesty."

"Mr. and Mrs. Burnett, Mrs. Rabb," A.J. said in a comforting tone, "in my thirty-plus years in the Navy, I've seen a lot of life-or-death situations, some of them involving Commander Rabb, as I'm sure you're aware, and I do have to say that that in addition to being very well trained, he's one of the most stubborn people I've ever met. The man doesn't know how to give up."

Trish smiled. "Believe me, Admiral," she said, "that's probably the one thing that's kept me from going crazy over night. His father survived eleven years in a Soviet prison camp. Harm can survive this. I know my son and you're right. He doesn't know how to give up."

-----

MIC'S APARTMENT

After being dropped off at his apartment by Bud and Harriet, Mic paced around his living room, frustrated. His eyes fell on an off-white envelope lying on the coffee table. He picked it up, slowly withdrawing the contents. It was a wedding invitation, one of four that had been excess after they were all addressed and sent out. Mic glanced at the clock on the mantle, realizing that if everything had gone as it should have, Mac would have been walking down the aisle right about now.

As sudden wave of anger overcoming him, he crumpled the invitation in his hand, and then flung it against the window. "Damn you, Harmon Rabb," he shouted, feeling far from satisfied as the card hit the window with a barely audible thud then fell to the floor.

It was always Rabb, he thought darkly. When Mac had disappeared in Russia, where had she ended up? In Chechnya, helping Rabb and his brother. When he'd tried to reach her, wanting to discuss the _People_ magazine article she'd been so mad about, what had she been doing? Representing that Middle Eastern princess at her INS hearing. Why? Because Rabb had asked her to. During their double date a few months ago, he and Renee had been left on the sidelines as Mac and Rabb had relieved the glory of past cases they'd worked together. When they'd been going through their wedding gifts, she'd taken off for Leavenworth. Sure, part of it had to do with the knife that had been found in one of their gifts, but when he'd asked how long she would be gone, she'd replied that she wasn't sure because she'd told Rabb she would meet with one of his clients while she was there.

Even at their own engagement party, she'd spent half the night on the porch with Rabb when she should have been inside with him, accepting the well-wishes of all their friends. Although he told Renee blithely that he wasn't worried, he would have loved to have been a fly on the wall for their discussion, because whatever the hell they'd discussed, it had Mac distracted and distant for the rest of the night. After the party, when he'd taken her home and expected to be invited in to stay the night, she'd insisted that she was tired and he should just go home. Just a few days earlier, he'd shown up at JAG, hoping to get Mac to take off the afternoon and spend it with him, but she'd insisted that she had to stay at work and cover for Rabb, who was leaving for his quals.

He stopped suddenly in his pacing, staring up at the ceiling. He was tired, both physically and mentally, and had enough. He wasn't much of an investigator, but if he started at Mac's apartment, he should be able to piece together where she was. For all he knew, she might even be there, closing herself off unnecessarily from everyone, from him. Scooping up his keys from the end table, he raced out of his apartment, filled with a determination to find his fiancée.

-----

MAC'S APARTMENT

When he let himself into Mac's apartment, the thing he noticed immediately was that Jingo didn't come to the door to greet him. A quick glance in all of the rooms had revealed no sign of the dog at all. Mic glanced in the kitchen and found that Jingo's dog food and bowls were missing, along with the box of dog treats Mac kept in the pantry. He went back out into the living room and discovered that the leash was missing from its hook by the door. It took two more circuits through the apartment before Mic found the note, tacked to the door of the refrigerator by a magnet.

_Bud and I stopped by and picked up Jingo since we didn't know when you'd be back. We'll keep him as long as you need._

_Harriet_

He considered calling Harriet, but decided to wait until he knew more. He glanced at his watch and decided that there would have been enough time for Bud and Harriet to drop Renee, then him, off at their places then stop here to pick up Jingo before he arrived. Maybe they were just worried about Mac and had wanted to see for themselves whether or not she was here and decided to take Jingo with them when they found him here alone. That had to be it. Bud or Harriet would have told him earlier if they knew where Mac was.

Going back out into the living room, he slowly circled the room, taking everything in. He stopped at the bookcase, noting the hole among the photo albums on the top shelf. He pulled some of the other albums off the shelf and glanced through them. One particularly thin book was photos of her childhood. Another, not quite as thin, was photos of the two of them during the year and a half since they'd gotten together. A thick album was photos of all her travels for the military. Just those three seemed to cover her entire life. So what was in the missing album, he wondered. What would be so important …? He shook his head as the answer came to him. No, that couldn't be it, he tried to tell himself, but he couldn't let go of the thought.

He closed his eyes, trying to remember what the shelf had looked like when all the photo albums were there. The missing book was dark blue with gold trim and had been even thicker than the one of her travels. One by one, he picked up the other three albums again and looked through them again. After he closed the final book, he realized that they all had one thing in common – there was not a single photo of Rabb in any of the books. It occurred to him that maybe she'd gotten rid of any photos of Rabb she might have had, but then he shook his head. He wasn't that lucky. What else could be in the missing photo album, especially given the events of the previous night?

Swearing softly under his breath, he went over to her desk and glanced through the contents on top of it, looking for what he wasn't sure. If she'd gone off somewhere and had planned to stay away for more than a day, maybe she'd called and made hotel reservations somewhere. He realized that he was probably grasping at straws, but there had to be something here that provided some clue as to her whereabouts.

But there was nothing there except for some case files, which he found odd since she'd been expecting to be gone for two weeks on their honeymoon, and her wedding planner. The later gave him some comfort, knowing that she'd been thinking about their wedding the previous night, the planner being opened to a page holding one of the invitations.

However, none of this told him anything. He started to turn away, and then spied a yellow piece of paper sticking out from under a folder. He pulled it out and glanced at it. It was a credit card receipt from the Breezy Point Officers' Club at Norfolk. From the list of items, it looked like it was for breakfast. It was probably just a receipt that she'd forgotten to file with a travel voucher. He started to put the receipt down, then stopped, trying to remember when was the last time she'd gone down to Norfolk on a case. He couldn't recall any recent trips to Norfolk she'd taken. She'd been to Quantico several times recently, but not Norfolk that he could recall.

He glanced down at the bottom of the receipt. 24 May 2001. That didn't make any sense. The date was just two days past, Thursday morning. What would she have been doing in Norfolk on Thursday? That was the first of two days she'd taken off work in preparation for the wedding and Norfolk was a little far away for breakfast just because she liked the food there.

What a minute, he thought, reading over the receipt again. A ham and cheese omelet and a vegetable omelet. Two cups of coffee. He knew Mac's appetite, but why would she order two omelets that were so different? This had to be a breakfast for two. But who would she have been having breakfast with? Not a client. She'd cleared all her cases and would start with new cases when they returned from their honeymoon. Did she have any friends in Norfolk? He honestly didn't know. She didn't talk a lot about people she knew outside of her friends at JAG. Friends at JAG ….

_The Admiral gave me the time to go home and pack since I'm driving to Norfolk …. I'm taking a helo to the Patrick Henry in the morning from there …._

He shook his head as the receipt fell from his hand, fluttering through the air to land on top of the open wedding planner. Why would she have been having breakfast with Rabb in Norfolk two days ago? It didn't make any sense. Maybe it was just a coincidence. It had to be. He just wanted all of this to make some kind of sense. There had to be an explanation. There just had to be.

-----

To be continued…


	9. Chapter 9

ONE HOUR LATER  
USS PATRICK HENRY

For once, Mac's perfect sense of time eluded her. She tried to calculate just how long it had been since she'd given up on getting any sleep, just for something to do, but she just couldn't force herself to concentrate. There was too much to distract her. From above her head came the steady bleep of the heart monitor. Not quite steady, she realized, as the machine seemed to hesitate before sounding in time with Harm's next heartbeat. But it was more regular than earlier, when she'd tried to count the beats and her own heart had seemed to jump every time the monitor caught before the next beep sounded.

Mostly softer, and definitely less steady than the heart monitor, was his breathing – alternating between long, raspy intakes of air and short gasps. Over the last however many minutes she'd been lying on her cot, she'd just about managed to condition herself not to jump every time he seemed to fight to draw in breath, although the tears were harder to will away.

Why had he had to fly back last night? Why couldn't he have waited until morning? As she blinked back tears, she could see so clearly in her mind the courtyard at JAG just three days earlier, when she'd extracted from Harm that damned promise to return to watch her pledge her life and love to another man. By the time he was preparing to return from the carrier, the promise had become null and void as the fog which had seemed to envelope her for the last fifteen months finally lifted and she finally made the decision to take charge of her own life. But even then, she'd only tried to talk him into spending the night in Norfolk. It had never even occurred to her to worry about his trip to Norfolk from the carrier. Why hadn't she just told him to stay on the carrier until morning came and the weather had passed?

Because it had seemed so damn normal, she realized. It had been so routine. How many times had she seen him take off in a Tomcat and land safely again? Why should this time have been any different? Or maybe not so different, she thought as she remembered something Bud had once told her about Harm's first crash. He'd been coming into land on a carrier in a storm. Officially, his night blindness had been the cause of the crash, but the weather had been a contributing factor. Maybe if she'd remembered that before, she would have been more concerned about him flying in such weather.

She laughed bitterly. Was there anything that would have kept Harm out of the air the previous night, even without the specter of her impending wedding hanging over their heads? Not likely. If Harmon Rabb wanted to fly, God help anyone who tried to stop him. Jordan had tried and look what it had gotten her. Even she'd tried. Even though she'd choked on the words she'd really wanted to say, she'd attempted to point out just what he would be leaving behind. _Damn you_, she swore silently. Forget Mic Brumby, Renee Peterson and all those who had come before them. What had really stood between the two of them was a forty million dollar piece of metal. By giving her his wings, Harm had tried to remove the obstacle, but it looked like it would always be there. After all, it had nearly taken him from her again, this time forever ….

She jumped when she suddenly felt a chill against her right cheek and she turned her head to find that the cold was coming from the back of Harm's hand pressed her face and he was turned on his side, looking down at her, the oxygen mask hanging around his neck. She pulled away from him, her anger at the situation and Harm rapidly dissipating, and swung her legs over the edge of the cot, standing as she crossed her arms over her chest, not quite succeeding in looking more stern than worried. "What do you think you are doing?" she demanded, pushing him over onto his back and tucking the warming blanket securely around him. She lifted the oxygen mask to fit it back over his face, but he weakly pushed her hand away. "You need the oxygen to help you breathe easier."

"Have …. to talk," he rasped, reaching up to brush his thumb over her cheek, catching a few stray tears. He hated that he was the one making her cry and if he could turn back time and do something different, something that would have kept his Tomcat in the air, he would gladly do it so that he wouldn't have to face the anguish in her eyes.

"You have to worry about getting better," she insisted, pulling his hand away from her face and tucking it back under the blanket.

Slowly, he shook his head. "Can't …. wait," he countered, gasping for breath between words, his expression pleading.

Her anger was back in a flash. "Yes, it can," she insisted forcefully, Harm's eyes widening at the barely concealed fury in her voice. "Damn it, you almost died last night. I thought living without you for six months was hard. I can't do forever."

"You …." What he was about to say was lost in a coughing spasm. Blocking out everything but her concern, she lightly rubbed his back as he rolled onto his side, struggling to catch his breath. Remembering something Doctor Reed had said earlier, she realized that the coughing was somewhat positive, despite how congested he sounded. The fact that he was now able to cough meant that his body temperature was getting closer to normal. As the spasm subsided, she glanced at the monitor on the wall over his head. 94.1 degrees. Still far from normal, but better than it had been.

"That's why you need to wear the oxygen mask," she reminded him gently as she helped him settle back into bed. "The corpsman said the heated oxygen will help ease your breathing." She tried to place it back over his mouth, but he shook his head.

"Almost did …. lose forever," he whispered. He blinked, his eyes watery – from tears or from his coughing spasm, Mac wasn't sure. Likely the latter, she thought. She couldn't see Harmon Rabb crying over this.

"Harm, I'm not going anywhere, not now," she said gently, managing what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

He shook his head again, more insistently. "Didn't wait," he whispered raggedly. She stared at him, trying to understand what he was trying to say. It didn't make any sense ….

She covered her mouth with her hand to stifle her soft cry as she realized what he was trying to say. He was scared that she wouldn't wait for him, just as she hadn't in Sydney when all he'd wanted was more time to …. handle whatever had been holding him back on the ferry. "I meant it when I said I'm not going anywhere," she said slowly, fighting the tremor in her voice, forcing back the haunting memory of past mistakes. Was the ground they were on that shaky that he thought she was going to abandon him in his current condition? What had happened to the partners who never had cause to question that one would be there for the other, no matter what? "I love you, Harm, and I'm staying right here with you."

He took in a few shuddering breaths as he tried to gather his thoughts. She seemed to understand what he was trying to say, but there was more he had to tell her, more he needed for her to comprehend. "Almost lost you," he said, bringing his hand out from under the blanket to clasp hers. She shivered as his cold fingers closed around hers, but resisted the instinct to pull her hand away and curled her fingers around his in reply.

"But you didn't," she reminded him. "I'm not going to marry Mic …." She trailed off as he shook his head.

"Not just …. Mic," he gasped. "Um, last night …. promised …. would tell you …. love you. So cold …. wanted sleep ….but had to tell you …."

She took in a shaky breath, brushing away tears with her free hand as the realization of just how close he'd been to slipping away staggered her. He was telling her that he'd been so close to giving up, to letting go to the cold and the dark. She dropped his hand and took a step back from the bed, quickly turning around as she fought to bring herself under control, spinning back around when she felt his hand try to grasp hers. As she came back around, she found him trying to push himself up into a sitting position. "Harm!" she cried out. Her cry brought a corpsman running from the far end of sickbay.

"Commander, you're not supposed to be moving around," the young woman insisted as she tried to push him back onto the bed. Normally, the petite corpsman would be no match for a determined, six-foot-four solidly built Naval Commander, but he didn't have the strength to take on a fly and what little strength he did possess quickly waned and it was only the corpsman and Mac's quick reflexes which kept him from tumbling out of bed. Inwardly cursing his body which wouldn't do what he wanted it to, he sank back against the pillow with a raspy groan, closing his eyes as he tried to block out the sharp pain in the back of his head. "And you're supposed to keep the oxygen mask on. We don't want you to catch pneumonia."

Despite the pain of movement, Harm shook his head as she tried to put the mask back on. "Need to talk …." he said, the rest of what he was trying to say lost as she managed to get the mask fitted back over his nose and mouth.

"If you think you can hold a pen," she said as his head fell back against his pillow, the struggle exhausting him, "then I'll get you something to write with. But the oxygen mask stays on or we may have to get more invasive to assist your breathing."

Reluctantly, Harm nodded, remembering the feeling of helplessness ten years earlier when he'd woken up in Landstuhl to the feeling of the intubation tube stuck down his throat, a ventilator forcing air into his battered and bruised lungs. He couldn't talk, he couldn't swallow. If he could avoid that particular sensation, he'd gladly do it. But he was almost desperate – yes, that was the right word, he realized – to talk to Mac, to make sure that she knew exactly how he felt. How many more chances would he have to finally get it right? Experimentally, he flexed his fingers. They were still stiff, but he was pretty sure he could close them around a pen. He had to.

Mac looked down, fiddling with the zipper of the jacket she was still wearing while the corpsman hunted up some paper and a pen. He seemed so anxious to talk to her, but she was afraid. Little more than twelve hours earlier, she'd made the difficult decision to turn her back on a long-term relationship that she'd just about managed to convince herself would last forever. How could she even think about diving head-first into another relationship, even if it was one she'd wanted deep down for nearly as long as she'd known Harm? But how could she not? She'd nearly lost him, not just to her relationship with Mic, as he pointed out, but to death. There was a part of her that wanted to grab onto him and everything he seemed to be offering and hold onto it with everything that was in her. As much as she wasn't sure she could risk rushing into anything so quickly, she had a feeling that not holding onto him with everything that was in her might just be the bigger risk.

"Sarah," Harm said, lightly tugging on her hand. She looked up to see him placing the oxygen mask back over his mouth – he'd lifted it just long enough to say her name – and a space next to him on the bed made when he scooted over towards the far edge. He patted the empty spot, his eyes conveying a silent message. She hesitated a split second before hoisting herself up onto the bed, bending one knee and tucking that leg under the other, trying to find the most comfortable position in the limited space. Harm held his arms out to her, indicating that she could lie down in his arms and she seriously considered it before reluctantly shaking her head. As much as she wanted to be in his arms, to reassure herself that he was real and to hear the comforting sound of his heart beating beneath her cheek, but she might forget herself and all her good intentions to take it slow, to figure out Sarah Mackenzie and where Harm fit into her life, would possibly fly out the window.

Harm closed his eyes, but not before she saw the hurt in their depths and she rushed to reassure him. "It's not you," she said softly. "It's me. Everything's so mixed up and I'm not …." Her voice trailed off as the corpsman returned and handed Harm a steno pad and a pen. He nodded his thanks and she moved off to inventory a supply cabinet at the other end of the room, giving them their privacy once again.

Mac had looked away, trying to compose herself, turning back when Harm placed the pad in her lap. She looked down to find a question in familiar, if slightly unsteady, handwriting.

_Everything's so mixed up and what ….?_

Taking a deep breath, she handed the pad back to him as she tried to put it into words. Finally, she began in a wavering voice. "I guess I've become a pretty good actress over the last year or so," she said softly, her eyes downcast. "I think I'd even managed to convince myself that being married to Mic Brumby was what I wanted. Or maybe I'd convinced myself that there wasn't anything better for me out there. I'm not sure." She hesitated as she noticed Harm starting to write something else out of the corner of her eye, but he nodded to her to continue. "I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders, now that I've … woken up is as good a term as any, I guess. But looking back, I don't even recognize the person I was for all those months. I'm not sure what happened to the real Sarah Mackenzie."

As she finished, she held out her hand, indicating that she was done talking and wanted to read what he'd written. He slowly finished what he was writing and turned the pad around so she could read it. She chuckled as she read the two messages. It was an imperfect form of communication and Harm had drawn arrows to indicate which message he wanted her to read first.

_She's been there all along. She just needed to figure out what she really wanted._

"Too bad admitting what I wanted couldn't have been easier," she murmured as she read his other comment, the one he'd started writing while she'd been speaking.

If marrying Mic was what you said you wanted, then why did you push me so hard on the Admiral's porch?

"If I knew that one," she chuckled ruefully, "then it wouldn't have taken me until the eleventh hour to admit that it wasn't really what I wanted. Maybe deep down I was hoping that you would push back and stop me from marrying him." She looked up at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears and realized truth as she remembered what he'd written in the letter he'd left for her. "But you weren't going to, were you? No matter how much you wanted to or I wanted you to, you wouldn't have done it."

Harm shook his head as he slowly wrote out another message and angled the pad so she could see it.

If marrying Mic was what you wanted to do – and that's what you told me how many times? – it wasn't my place to stand in your way.

"Why do you always have to be so damn noble?" she muttered. Realizing from the shocked expression in his eyes that he'd heard that – she hadn't meant to say it out loud – she quickly shook her head before he could turn the pad back around and scratch out a response. "No, don't answer that. I'm sorry."

Harm was relieved. Although he'd intended to reply, he wasn't quite sure how. He actually thought she was a bit off the mark. If he was so noble, why had he taken her into his bed a few nights earlier, while she was pledged to another? He wasn't noble. He was just a helpless passenger on a runaway train he couldn't pilot or control. Sometimes the only thing to do was to hang on for the ride. It was a sensation he hated. She'd been right about that at the engagement party. He was hanging onto his control like a lifeline, but he had to. Look at what had happened when he lost control. Maybe it wasn't completely his fault – the jet had been struck by lightning, after all. But the mechanical problems with the plane should have been detected during preflight. There had to have been something he should have caught, something he could have done during the flight to have affected the outcome.

"Hey," Mac said softly. He jerked himself out of his reverie to find her studying him with concern. "Penny for your thoughts."

He hesitated, not sure how to reply. She didn't need to hear this right now, all his questions and doubts about his accident. It wasn't her burden to bear, so he settled on a glib reply. Slowly, he wrote out his short response and showed it to her.

_I'm not sure they're worth that much_.

She recognized it for diversionary tactic that it was and sighed inwardly. She knew he was shutting down on her, but wasn't quite sure why. She thought they'd come further than that since the engagement party. But hadn't that always been their story – one step forward, three steps back? "They are to me," she said simply. She reached out and stroked his forehead, avoiding the deep bruise over his right eye. Idly, she wondered how he'd gotten that. She would have thought that area would have been protected by his helmet. "Please, tell me what you're thinking."

He turned his head away, struggling to think of something to say that would satisfy her. She was about to comment about his shutting down on her again when he was overcome with another coughing fit. She wasn't sure about reaching out to comfort him, wasn't sure if he wanted her to, but before she could decide, he turned back, still gasping for breath, and handed her the pad. His handwriting was even more unsteady, the words written as he'd been struggling through the coughing.

_You haven't answered my question._

"Which question?" she asked casually, although she knew very well which question he was referring to. She'd known that would come up again sooner or later. She just didn't think that was a question she could answer right now.

He took the pad back, trying to mask his impatience. He could see the truth in her eyes. She knew exactly what he was talking about. Pushing aside the tiny voice in the back of his head, the one pointing out that this probably wasn't the best time, he wrote out four words on the paper and turned the notebook back around.

_Will you marry me?_

"Harm …." she began as he took the pad back and began writing out something else. She glanced up at the ceiling, trying to make some sense out of the myriad of thoughts racing through her head. Why hadn't he been able to ask her that question fifteen months ago? How many times since then had she woken up from the most wonderful dream where it had been Harm on the ferry with her, resplendent in his dress whites, slipping a diamond ring on her finger as she answered 'yes' without hesitation. Only she'd wake up and find it had only been a dream. Now it was real and she couldn't make herself say anything.

No matter how much she wanted to, neither of them could go back and undo past mistakes. They could only go forward, but was this the way to make things better? What if Harm had never crashed? They wouldn't be talking marriage already. The question appeared to be a knee-jerk reaction to their circumstance and she couldn't shake the feeling that it was no more the basis for a marriage than what she'd had with Mic was, even if Harm was the man she was in love with. "I know a lot has happened, but …."

_Do you think this is the first time I've thought of this?_

She almost laughed when she read that. Sometimes, it was so hard to figure out what he was thinking. "I don't know …." she murmured.

Harm didn't have a reply for that. That had been their problem before, on the ferry, and in many conversations since then. He'd been so unclear in expressing what he'd been thinking on the ferry that it had driven her into another man's arms. He decided to turn his question around and wrote out something, then showed her.

_Nor is this the first time you've thought about it. Remember the party?_

She didn't even have to think about that one. That idea had haunted her even before she'd said anything at the party, almost since the disastrous ferry ride. Sighing, she nodded sadly. "I said that if things had gone differently on the ferry," she said, "perhaps we still would have been attending an engagement party that night." She turned away, exhaling slowly as she tried to compose a response which wouldn't precipitate an argument. After a few moments, she turned back towards him, but avoided meeting his gaze. "I wish it were that simple, Harm. But we can't go back …."

She looked down as she felt a chill against her hand. Harm had brought his left hand out from under the blanket and was now clasping her hand in his, rubbing his thumb back and forth across her palm. His hand was still so cold against hers, in marked contrast to the warmth that was spreading outward from her palm at his tender touch.

Her eyes finally meeting his, she found herself drowning in their depths. For a moment, she could swear that he was an open book, revealing in his penetrating gaze everything that she'd ever wanted him to say, every feeling that she ever wished he would let show. She opened her mouth, but couldn't trust herself to speak. She was afraid of what might come out of her mouth, scared that she might find herself promising him anything.

"Sarah," he said, cursing to himself when he realized she couldn't hear him through the mask he wore. Sighing, he wrote out what he wanted to say and held out the pad. Mac pulled her hand from his, instantly noting the dissipation of the warmth his touch had brought and mourning it, and read over his words.

I don't see it as going back. I …. it's something I should have done a long time ago.

"I wish it were that simple," she repeated, suddenly jumping up from the bed. She needed to think and to do that she had to put some space between them. Sitting next to him, looking into his eyes, his fingers curled around hers, it would be so easy to let herself fall, but for the sake of everything she hoped they could be to each other, she couldn't afford to do that. Retreating a few feet away from the end of the bed, she turned back around and crossed her arms over her chest, trying to put forth an air of certainty that she didn't feel. "How can we make decisions like this with so much still hanging over our heads? What about Mic and Renee? As much as we'd probably like to forget that they even exist, we can't. They are still so much a part of our lives. We can't just pretend the last two years never happened."

_We have to tell them it's over. Do they have to know the reasons why?_

Incredulous, she shook her head. "Are you serious?" she demanded. "What makes you think they're not going to know, especially coming on the heels of all this? Have you lost your mind?" Realizing that she was raising her voice, she took a deep breath and continued in a more level tone. "Maybe we should continue this later. You're still, uh, not well and you probably need more time to think …."

Harm held the pad up after a moment and Mac took a few steps towards the bed so she could read what he'd written.

_I've done nothing but think, not just last night, but since Wednesday night. Probably even since the party. I've finally figured out what has been there all along._

_I can't remember when I haven't loved you._

She covered her mouth with a trembling hand. With just eight words, he'd managed to make her come completely undone. With slow, slightly unsteady steps, she walked up to the head of the bed as Harm pushed a button to raise the head of the bed so that he was in a semi-sitting position. She perched on the edge of the bed next to him, unhesitatingly going into his outstretched arms, burying her face against his throat. Conscious of the IV tubing and the wires from the EKG monitor, she laid down next to him, draping her arm over his chest, the warming blanket between them.

Still wearing his jacket, she couldn't feel his hand as he slowly let it trail up and down her back, but she could hear the soft creak of the leather beneath his touch. Sighing softly, she pressed a light kiss against his throat, pulling back when she felt something odd against her lips. Propping herself up on an elbow, she ran her fingers under his chin, studying the abrasions on his neck. "What happened here?" she asked, forcing her voice to remain calm. If she didn't know better, she'd swear that they were rope burns. What had happened to him out there?

Harm lifted his hand and felt the wounds, closing his eyes as his mind traveled back to the stormy ocean, the cold rain pelting his exposed skin like thousands of sharp needles, the parachute lines tangling, cutting off his air, his finger frantically trying to undo the strap on his helmet in a vain attempt to relieve the pressure. He was brought back to the present by her soft, insistent 'Harm?' He opened his eyes, blinking to clear his vision. He thought he could feel the salt water still stinging his eyes – or was it tears? He couldn't be sure that his mind wasn't playing tricks on him.

Shifting position slightly so he could see what he was writing on the pad held in his hands behind her back, he hesitantly wrote out his reply, trying to come up with a way to put it so that it didn't sound as bad as it really had been. Sighing at the impossible task, he kept his answer as brief as possible. After a few minutes, he pulled his left arm from around her and held out the pad.

Lines got tangled when the chute opened.

"Tangled around your neck?" she asked in a hoarse whisper. If he was telling her what she thought he was, he was nearly strangled by the equipment that was supposed to save his life. Slowly, he nodded, dropping the notebook onto his lap, rubbing his thumb across her one cheekbone then the other, brushing away unchecked tears.

"I was scared," she started softly, so quietly that Harm had to strain to hear her. "When Captain Ingles called me last night, I tried to tell myself that you're the strongest person I know, that you've survived so much adversity. But there was this …. dread in the pit of my stomach. I was so terrified that I'd never get a chance to tell you how much I love you, that we'd never have the opportunity to do so many things, like have that baby we promised each other. I promised myself that we weren't going to waste any more time."

I promised myself the same thing. If nothing else, I guess I realize how short life is and how I …. we can't afford to waste any more time. I want you to wake up every day knowing how much I love you, Sarah. I want to share my life with you.

"I know," she admitted, taking his hand in hers and pressing her lips to his knuckles. She moistened her dry lips with her tongue as she lifted her eyes to meet his, smiling weakly through her still-falling tears. Why had it taken Harm almost dying to be able to open up like this to each other? Even the single, sad, magical night they'd spent together hadn't brought that. "I want the same thing …. so yes, I will marry you."

For a long moment, all was silent but the beeping and blipping of the various machines monitoring Harm's condition. Finally, Mac leaned down, her mouth against his ear. "Did you not hear me?" she asked, her breath hot against his skin. She kept her tone light, almost joking. "I said that I will marry you."

His eyes widened and she thought she could detect his lips curving upward in a smile through the mask. There was so much going through his mind that he could barely process it all. He'd half expected, even had tried to mentally prepare himself to hear her say 'no' or 'not yet'. Now, there would have been an irony. But she'd said 'yes' and he promised himself he was never going to let her go again. He scratched something out and turned the pad to show her what he'd written, causing her to laugh.

_I want to kiss you._

"Well, until the doctor says you can remove the oxygen mask," she pointed out, "you'll have to settle for this." Smiling softly, she pressed a kiss to first one cheek, then the other, then finally to the center of his forehead. She settled back down on the bed, pressing herself against his side, slipping one arm under his neck, her other arm draped over him. Harm wrapped one arm around her and held her as tight as he could, smiling. Despite the fact that he was lying in sickbay, hooked up to all manner of machines, he could not remember when his life had been better. What was Mac's mantra – a good man, great career and lots of comfortable shoes? He could see the appeal in its simplicity.

Mac closed her eyes, turning everything over in her mind as she idly traced circles over his chest. She'd just agreed to be Harmon Rabb's wife. Mrs. Harmon Rabb, Jr. Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Rabb. It had a nice ring to it, she thought, and it came so much easier to her than ….

"I'm sorry," a voice said with amusement. Her eyes flew open to find vaguely familiar face looking at them from the edge of the bed. After a moment and a glance at the man's collar insignia, she remembered who he was. It was Father Gilly, the priest who had led the prayer service that morning. Her cheeks flushing red, she pulled out of Harm's embrace and pushed herself into a sitting position, running a hand over her hair, hoping she looked somewhat presentable. "I didn't mean to interrupt. I was just speaking to Doctor Reed and thought I'd stop by and see how Commander Rabb is doing."

"We were just trying to get some sleep," Mac explained hastily. There was nothing really to be embarrassed about – there was even a blanket between them and she was fully dressed - but the man was still a priest. "It's been a long night …."

"I understand, Colonel," he replied gently, his eyes falling on her rank insignia. "By the way, I'm Father Patrick Gilly, the _Henry_'s chaplain. I saw you at the service this morning."

Mac shook his outstretched hand, nodding. "Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Mackenzie," she introduced herself. "I'm Harm's fiancée." She smiled widely, looking down at Harm at the last part. The words had come surprisingly easily from her mouth and she could see the light in his eyes at her proclamation.

"Congratulations," Gilly said. "Thank God that Commander Rabb was returned to you safely."

"Yes," Mac murmured politely, although she wasn't entirely sure that it wasn't God's fault Harm had even been lost out there. But she was hardly up for a theological debate with a priest.

He seemed to sense the direction of her thoughts and let the subject drop. He'd counseled his fair share of family members after something happened to a service member and could guess what she was probably thinking. Smiling, he asked, "Have you set a date for the wedding yet?"

"Well, things have been kind of crazy recently, even before yesterday," Mac explained, shrugging. Well, that was the truth, so to speak, even without explaining that until yesterday, she'd been engaged to another man and that today was supposed to have been her wedding day. She was barely aware of Harm writing out something as she continued, "After everything has settled down and we have a moment or two to catch our breaths, we'll have to make time to sit down and plan everything out properly."

Harm tapped the back of her hand with the pen and held out the pad to her. She glanced over what he'd written, then read over it again more slowly, unable to believe what she was reading. She shot him an incredulous look as she turned his words over in her mind.

_What if Father Gilly marries us today? Then after everything has 'settled down', we can plan another wedding for our families and friends._

She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it, unable to make the words come out. Maybe she'd been right earlier. Perhaps he'd lost his mind. "What about, um, _everything_?" she asked quietly, placing special emphasis on the final word. Without hesitation, Harm wrote out a reply and showed it to her.

_This would be just for us. Why would anyone have to know anything until after all that is settled? Then we can tell our friends that we're engaged and have a small ceremony that those closest to us can attend. That is what you wanted, isn't it – a small wedding?_

"You remember my saying that?" she asked in wonder, remembering her and Mic's differing ideas at their double date a few months earlier about the setting for their wedding. After their night out, the polite discord had given way to a major disagreement, Mic somehow getting his way in the end – how, she still wasn't quite sure. Mic, the person most immediately involved, hadn't seemed to hear a word she'd said. Harm had not only heard, but he'd remembered months later.

_You wanted a small wedding on a hillside, but I draw the line at the goats. You know, there's a nice hill on my grandmother's farm …. I'd love to take you there._

In spite of her uncertainty, she laughed out loud at his attempt to put her at ease. "I'll give you that one," she promised, "and your grandmother's farm probably isn't a bad idea. I'm sure I'd love it up there. But going back to what we were discussing …."

A thoughtful expression in his eyes, Harm tapped his pen against the notebook while he considered what he wanted to say. Finally, he scribbled out something and showed it to her.

_I want to pledge myself to you before God, even if only the two of us and a handful of people here on the ship know about it. I – I realize that it's probably not your dream wedding, but at least we'll know that we've got the rest of our lives ahead of us – together._

"Harm, I do know that," she replied. "Even if I've had doubts about it in the past, I know now how you feel and I hope that you realize how much I love you, too."

He sighed in frustration, the sound lost in the mask he wore. How could he explain to her that which he could barely explain to himself? He wasn't sure he wanted to, or could, explain about Diane and his dream – hallucination? He was pretty sure that it was still an uncomfortable subject for them, to a certain degree anyway. He just knew that he'd missed out on so much – with Diane because of her death and with Mac because of so many things which hardly seemed to matter anymore – and he didn't want that anymore. He was a lawyer who'd swayed judges and juries with stirring arguments. Why was it so hard to talk to this one woman?

Smiling as inspiration struck, he began writing again while Gilly, his presence seemingly forgotten by Harm and Mac, watched the by-play between the two. Even after just a few minutes, he could see the obvious love between them. He'd seen how Mac's eyes had positively lit up, her expression softening, when she'd introduced herself as Harm's fiancée and again when she'd just softly proclaimed her love. Harm's expression was harder to read, mostly because of the oxygen mask, but Gilly thought he saw the same thing in Harm's eyes when he looked at Mac.

He wasn't sure what they were discussing so intently, but he had his suspicion based on experience and the seemingly innocent question he'd asked about when they would get married. He'd seen it both before and after the Gulf War, and other situations demanding longer than usual, or sudden, deployments. There'd practically been a line outside his office, then at Miramar, of sailors and Marines looking to hastily marry before being shipped off to war or after coming back. A fellow chaplain had said, only half-jokingly, that there was nothing like facing one's mortality in war to provoke either religious fervor – church attendance did tend to go up during those times - or grand declarations of love. Gilly was still idealistic enough to think of it as people realizing what was truly important in life.

Unaware of the priest's scrutiny, Harm finished what he was writing and hesitantly handed the pad back to Mac. This was perhaps the closing argument of his life. As she took it from him, her fingers brushed against his, the jolt of electricity from such a simple contact seeming to spread throughout her entire body. Taking a shaky breath, trying to control her racing heart, she focused on the words in front of her.

_I know I'm not very good at this kind of thing. I didn't have any poetic words and phrases to declare my love with. I don't even have a ring to put on your finger – unless you'd like to wear my Academy ring, even if it is about five or six sizes too large for you. I don't even have my dress whites to dazzle you with, even if you once claimed they're overrated. All I have to offer you right now is my love._

_All I can say is that I love you and I don't want to waste another day. We've wasted so much time already. I know a lot of that is my fault and a lot of it probably goes back to my decision to return to active flight status and what I didn't say on the ferry. So many times, and not just since Wednesday, I've wondered where we would be right now if not for all that. Maybe you were right and we would have been celebrating at our engagement party a few weeks ago. Or maybe we'd already be married and thinking about making good on a certain promise we once made._

_I love you, Sarah Mackenzie, and I want to show you how much I've loved you, just about from the moment I first met you. I know you're probably going to find that one hard to believe, given …. other circumstances, but I meant it when I said I can't remember when I haven't loved you. And when we were separated – the month you spent at Dalton's firm, my five months aboard the Henry – those were some of the hardest times of my life. And last night, I tried not to think about the idea that I might never see you again, that you might never know …. all this. But I couldn't stop myself from thinking it and the idea scared me. I know you probably thought you'd ever hear something like that from me. But you know what else? It gave me a reason to keep fighting. You're the reason I'm still here._

_I don't know what else to say to you, except that I love you and I want to spend my life with you._

"Oh, Harm," she whispered, clasping his hand in hers, her eyes shining bright with unshed tears. She lifted his hand to her lips and kissed his fingers. "I love you and I want to spend my life with you."

Harm started to pull his hand from hers so he could write something else, but she shook her head, maintaining her hold. Swallowing nervously, she turned to Gilly. "Father, Harm and I have a request," she said, smiling when she felt Harm's fingers tighten around hers. "As you know, we're planning to get married. After everything that's happened, um, last night, we don't want to waste any more time. We want to be together. If you will agree, we'd like to have a small ceremony today, just for us."

"I see," Gilly said, pulling up a stool at the end of the bed and sitting down, a thoughtful expression on face. Although the request was hardly unexpected, he was about to jump on the bandwagon just yet. He wouldn't be doing his job if he did. These days, he saw far too many marriages that seemed to start out so perfect go up in flames. "I don't think I have to explain to either of you how big a step marriage is."

"Believe me, Father," Mac said with certainty, "if nothing else, we realize how serious this is. And God knows …." She stopped suddenly, as if remembering to whom she was talking. "Sorry, Father. Anyway, if it hadn't been for a lot of mistakes – on both our parts – we wouldn't be having this discussion, because it wouldn't be necessary. We would most likely already be married, or just about there. We've learned a lot recently, about each other and the mistakes we've made – and we just want the chance to finally do it right."

"What about your friends and families?" he asked. "I cannot understate the importance of having a support system, the love and support of those closest to you. No person is an island and neither is a couple."

Harm motioned to Mac to let him answer the question. She nodded assent and he wrote out a reply. Watching him, she noticed that he was having an easier time putting the words on paper, that he didn't seem to be moving quite as stiffly. He showed her the pad when he was finished and she relayed his words to the priest. "Harm says that we do know that and we do want them to participate in celebrating our love, which is why we have discussed having another ceremony later – after Harm's had a chance to recover and we get a chance to plan - that those closest to us can attend."

"Actually, another ceremony would probably be a necessity," Gilly pointed out. "I'm hardly an expert on this aspect – we don't perform weddings at sea in the Navy, since regs prohibit married couples from serving together – and although any ceremony I perform would be valid in the eyes of the Church, the civil authorities wherever you live might want something a little more, uh, legally binding, with blood tests and a marriage license issued by whatever state you reside in."

"The lawyers should have thought of that one," Mac joked, glancing at Harm. She was smiling as she said it, but her voice had a hint of uncertainty. There was a part of her inside that was suggesting maybe she could use that as a basis for putting the brakes on this entire thing, but her heart was refusing to listen.

_Gives us perfect reason for another wedding._

"I agree," she said, forcing back her unease. She loved Harm and was going to hold onto that. Together, surely they could work the rest out. She turned back to the priest and relayed what Harm had written. The priest chuckled, then quickly turned serious.

"Normally, there are procedures to be followed, even for a religious ceremony," he said. "Just as for a civil ceremony there is paperwork to fill out, blood work to be done, there are things that we do to prepare a couple on the religious side of things. Now, I remember Commander Rabb from when he served aboard the _Henry_ previously, so I already know his answer to this question, so this is directed at you, Colonel Mackenzie. What is your religious preference – assuming you have one, that is?"

"Catholic," she replied. "I assume when you're talking about procedures, you're referring mostly to pre-Cana – or more accurately in my case, Cana II?"

Gilly nodded. "You've done your research," he commented. "And you've been married before, if you already know that Cana II is the appropriate conference in your case."

"Civilly, anyway," she explained. "My first marriage took place outside the Church. When the subject of pre-Cana was first broached, I had a couple of interesting conversations with the priest about whether the normal session or Cana II would be more appropriate." It had more than a grain of truth to it. When she and Mic had their first meeting with the chaplain who would have performed their ceremony, it had been debated which session they should attend. Technically, her first marriage was not recognized by the Church, so the priest had suggested that the regular pre-Cana conference was more appropriate, but she'd been concerned about being in a class with people who'd never been married before, even if she was in the same position in the eyes of the Church. If part of the point of pre-Cana was meeting other couples in the same situation, how could any of them understand what she'd gone through in her first marriage? After a few intense discussions – during which Mic had backed her up - the priest had finally conceded her point and she and Mic had attended Cana II. Not that she felt any more comfortable there, but she could admit now that feeling had less to do with the marriage preparations and more to do with the man she'd agreed to marry.

"So, have you already attended the conference or were you still in the information gathering stage?" he asked.

Squeezing Harm's hand quickly as she glanced at him, she hoped he understood her unspoken signal to agree with what she was about to say. "We've been," she replied, mentally crossing her fingers. "With our careers, it's been hard with the planning. Either of us can – and often are – sent out of town on a moment's notice. We had an opportunity to go ahead and attend the conference, so we took it, even though we hadn't set a date yet." Actually, that was partially true in her and Mic's case, as well. Even though they hadn't been close to setting a date and wouldn't for nearly two more months, Mic had signed them up for the session at the cathedral within a week after she'd moved the ring over.

"In that case, I'll save the discussion on the role of marriage in the Church, since you've already heard it," he said. "Normally, we'd also need to see certain documents attesting the fact that you are authorized to participate in the sacrament of marriage in the Church – baptismal, first communion and confirmation certificates, whatever documents you have, Colonel, attesting to the dissolution of your first marriage by either divorce or death, even though the marriage wasn't recognized in the eyes of the Church. But since you said you've already attended pre-Cana and would have had to present these documents to your local priest, I think I can safely wave those requirements given the unique circumstances."

"Thank you," Mac said, even as she realized that it would have given them an out if he'd insisted on seeing the documentation. Although she knew where all her certificates were since she'd had to find them when planning her wedding to Mic, she had no way to get a hold of them at the moment and for all she knew, Harm's stuff could be anywhere, possibly even at his parents' in California. Father Gilly seemed willing to perform a ceremony for them, so there didn't seem to be anything stopping them. "So, when would we do this?"

"Well, you'll need a couple of witnesses," he said. "And I'll need to get my Bible and see if I have a blank marriage certificate in my files, so everything's as official as we can make it. Do you need any more time to prepare?"

"I guess I should probably clean up a little bit," Mac said, the nervousness in her voice just barely detectable. She looked down at her clothes and chuckled softly. "I didn't know I'd be getting married today or I would have brought something other than my uniform."

Harm scratched out a quick response and showed her what he'd written.

_You look beautiful._

"Yours is hardly an objective opinion," she retorted in a teasing tone, her cheeks tinged pink at the compliment. She thought about it a moment, then turned back to Gilly. "How about in an hour?"

"That's fine," he said as he stood to leave. "One more thing – did you have any specific verses in mind for readings or would you like me to just pick something appropriate?"

Her eyes widened, almost like a deer caught in headlights. Not being particularly religious – she couldn't even remember the last time she'd picked up a Bible - she'd had a hard time with that when the chaplain had asked her and Mic the same thing. In the end, she'd thought it easier to just go along with Mic's suggestions. Just like everything else, he'd known just what he wanted there. "Um, I don't know," she answered. "We were still in the discussion stages on that, so you can just pick whatever you think is appropriate."

He nodded, merely chalking up her reticence to pre-marital jitters and the stress of everything that had happened. "Okay," he said. "I'll leave you alone then and see you in an hour."

Harm turned around his pad so Gilly could read what he'd just written.

_Thank you, Father. I – we really appreciate this._

"You're welcome," he said, smiling. "I'll see you both later."

As Gilly walked out, Harm watched Mac and the emotions flitting across her face as she crossed her arms over her chest, rubbing her arms as if cold. Once they were alone, Harm nudged her to get her attention, handing her his notebook.

_Are you okay? If you want to wait …._

"No," she said quickly. Putting on the best smile she could, she took a deep breath and continued, "I'm just …. I can't believe we're really doing this. I think it's just hitting me and I've got a good case of butterflies in my stomach. Everything's just moving so fast …."

_Too fast? We don't have to get married today. I don't want you to feel pressured._

"I'm not feeling pressured," she said, attempting a reassuring tone. "I just can't believe this is happening. This is how I wished I had felt …. " She trailed off, shaking her head. "No, that doesn't matter. You and I are getting married and that's what is important now. Nothing else."

_What about witnesses? I know you don't really know anyone on the ship all that well, but I was thinking Skates and Tuna could stand up for us – at least if she's up to it. I know you'd probably prefer to have Harriet here for you, and Chloe._

"I like Skates," Mac said. "I don't have a problem with her standing as witness for us. I can go ask her – she's in another part of sickbay since she'd not in as bad a shape as you. Why don't I go check on her while you – I don't know – get some rest or something." She was about to get up to leave when Harm started to write something. She hesitated, waiting to see what he had to say.

_Who could rest now?_

She stared at him in wonder. Could the normally confident, self-assured Harmon Rabb possibly be just as nervous as she was? Her eyes met his and she could see so much in them – a hint of nervousness, excitement, joy and, best of all, the love she'd always wanted to see in their depths. Smiling almost shyly, she lowered her eyes. "I know what you mean," she said softly.

His hand closed around her wrist and she lifted her head at his soft, hoarse 'Sarah' to find that he'd once again pulled oxygen mask from over his mouth and was using his free arm – the one unencumbered by the IV and blood pressure cuff – to push himself into a sitting position, wincing as his battered and bruised body protested the movement. He squeezed his eyes shut against a sudden flash of pain in the back of his head, forcing them open again, hoping that Mac wouldn't realize the effort just this little amount of motion took. Breathing slowly in an attempt to keep the dizziness at bay, he gently tugged on her arm and she perched back on the edge of the bed, allowing him to pull her against his chest.

Mac willingly sank into his embrace. Even through her clothes, she could feel how chilled he still was and she suddenly remembered their night in the mountains, when she'd been the one injured and he'd held her close throughout the night as she'd alternately shivered and burned as infection set in. She wished she could do something to provide even a little of the comfort he'd once given her.

"I love you," he said in a ragged whisper as she lifted her head. Their gazes locked and for what seemed like the longest moment of their lives to both of them, they simply looked their fill of each other. For two people whose lives were often filled with so much turmoil, it was the rarest of moments, when for a brief period of time both would have sworn that their lives couldn't be more perfect. All that mattered in that moment was that they had each other. Everything which might have weighed them down just seemed to fall away.

Almost tentatively, Harm dipped his head, his lips first lightly brushing over hers. She felt so warm, so inviting and gradually, he deepened the kiss, gently parting her lips with his tongue. He started to circle his arms around her, intending to pull her closer, thinking better of it when the IV tubing pulled taunt, trying not to wince when his skin was pulled where the IV needle was inserted and taped to his forearm.

As if she was reading his mind, Mac slid closer, tentatively wrapping her arms around him, careful not to hold him too tight lest she aggravate any injuries. Her eyes fluttered closed as she lost herself to a kiss unlike any other they'd shared, so soft and achingly sweet that it brought tears to her eyes.

Her lips curved upward in a smile as they reluctantly pulled apart, resting their foreheads together, Harm's hand soothingly stroking her hair. Sighing softly, she echoed, "I love you, too." She allowed another moment to enjoy the peace and serenity before pulling out of his arms, gently helping him to lie back against his pillows, tenderly tucking his blanket back around him. She gave him one more brief kiss before setting the mask over his nose and mouth again. "I'll be back soon."

It was a few more minutes before she could make herself pull away and walk out of the sickbay's critical care ward. After stepping through the hatch, she turned and watched him for another moment as he closed his eyes, a smile on his face. She tried to remember the last time she'd seen him looking so relaxed, but failed. If she could be the one to bring a little bit of peace to a man whose life had been filled with anything but, then it would all be worth it, she told herself. It had to be.

-----

LIEUTENANT HAWKES' CABIN

Not long after Harm had finally been brought on board, the doctor treating her had deemed Skates well enough to be released from sickbay. She and Robert had popped their heads into the critical ward, to assure themselves that Harm was going to be okay, but they hadn't stayed. Harm appeared to have managed to drift off to sleep and Mac was tossing restlessly on her cot, so they'd silently agreed to allow the couple some much needed rest and had retreated to Skates' cabin.

Her roommate Jessica Hanson, a lieutenant from communications, was on duty, so they had it to themselves. After a few teasing comments about hot-bunking fantasies, they'd curled up together on her bottom bunk, her back against his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around her, almost as if he was afraid to let her go. They'd managed to drift off, only to wake up less than half an hour later as Skates got caught up in a dream of pounding rain and bone-chilling water which only hours before had been all to real for her.

Both of them unable to fall back asleep, they'd laid there together, talking about everything and nothing – a few minor changes in the catering menu for their wedding reception, an amusing anecdote about Robert's infant nephew who'd just recently acquired the skill of walking and who seemed to find it quite fun to fall on his rear end and watch all the adults rush to make sure he was alright, a practical joke pulled by Tuna and Boomer on some of the guys in crypto in response to one pulled on them the previous week. Everything except the subject hanging most heavily over their heads – the few hours the night before when Skates had nearly been lost forever.

Robert tried a few times to gently draw her out, but she'd resisted all his efforts and he let the subject drop. He trusted that she would open up to him eventually, as she'd often said that one of the reasons she'd fallen in love with him was that he was so easy to talk to, so for now he was satisfied to allow her the time to come to terms with her ordeal for herself.

Talk eventually returned to the subject of their wedding. With the day just five weeks away, there still seemed to be a million details to be taken care of and since the point of her taking leave this weekend had been to work on some of those, it seemed natural to discuss the topic in depth. And it gave Skates something to focus on in the attempt to push aside what had happened the night before.

"I got a call from my mother a few days ago," Robert said, covering one of her hands with his, weaving his fingers through hers. Skates tightened her fingers around his in return, as if she didn't want to let him go. "She wanted to know what kinds of flowers we were planning to have because she has concerns about some cousin or something on her side of the family who is allergic."

"And she's just bringing this up now?" Skates asked, incredulous. She had a pretty good relationship with her future in-laws, but as the wedding drew closer, her mother-in-law's subtle – and not-so-subtle - attempts to meddle in the planning were beginning to grate on her nerves. More accurately, they were getting on Skates' mother's nerves, with the bride and groom caught in the middle. If she didn't know her mother would kill her for cheating her out of the chance to plan a wedding for her only daughter, Skates would be all to happy to elope.

"Well, I did ask her that if they couldn't handle sitting in a church with flowers at the ends of the pews for forty-five minutes," he replied with a chuckle, "how were they planning to survive the outdoor reception. She was not amused." In fact, she'd bent his ear for half an hour, going on about how he was being so inconsiderate of poor cousin Charles who was so severely allergic that he rarely ventured outdoors from March to October. He loved her, but he was under no illusions about the fact that his mother was one of the most overbearing people he knew.

"I don't think you want to know what my mother said if your mother sticks her nose …." She trailed off at the sound of a knock on the door. "Yes?"

"Skates?" She couldn't help the brief panic that seized her at the sound of Mac's voice on the other side of the door, but she took a deep breath and told herself to relax. If something were wrong with Harm, the last place Mac would be was outside her cabin door. "It's Colonel Mackenzie. I have a favor to ask of you."

She glanced at Robert and shrugged, unable to imagine what she could do for Mac. Pulling herself from his arms, she climbed out of bed and crossed the short distance to the hatch, pulling it open and motioning Mac inside. Studying the other woman carefully, she thought she looked an odd mixture of exhausted, nervous and excited. "What can I do for you, Colonel?" she asked, pulling out the desk chair and offering it to Mac. "How's Harm?"

Grateful, she sank into the chair, not sure she had the strength to remain standing. She promised to make herself get at least a few hours sleep after the wedding since she definitely wasn't going to be getting a honeymoon. She stifled a yawn as she ran her hand over her tired eyes. "Harm's holding his own," she replied. "He's almost out of the woods as far as the hypothermia is concerned. His temperature is just below 95 degrees. He sounds congested – he's coughing now that he's warming up – but he's getting heated oxygen, which is supposed to help with that. How about you? I went looking for you in sickbay, but Doctor Reed said he'd released you several hours ago."

"I wasn't really in the water long enough to matter," she said somewhat reluctantly, feeling bad about being so lucky when Harm had nearly died. She sat on the edge of her bunk next to Robert, her hand clasping his. "I got banged up a little when I ejected. It's nothing that a long, hot bath wouldn't cure, if I could get one, anyway. I was worse off after my first crash."

"Harm will be glad to hear that," Mac said. "I think he wasn't entirely sure the doctor was being straight with him when he said you were going to be fine, but Harm was hardly in a position at the time to argue with Doctor Reed."

"We were planning to come by sickbay later," Skates said, "maybe after dinner. We checked in when I was released, but you and Harm were resting, so we didn't stick around."

"Well, uh, that brings me to the favor I need," Mac said. "And considering what I'm about to ask, perhaps you should call me Mac. Maybe you could come by sickbay in about an hour, maybe a little less?"

"Sure, uh, Mac," Skates agreed, perplexed. "For what, exactly?"

"A wedding," she said, lowering her eyes. "Um, Harm and I are getting married."

"Congratulations," Robert exclaimed, unaware that this might be more than slightly out of the ordinary. Skates said nothing, studying Mac intently.

"Thank you," Mac said, looking back up, although she avoided looking directly at Skates. She was probably one of a very few people on the ship who knew that there was more to this story than two people grabbing onto what was important after a life-threatening situation. "We'll have another ceremony later, maybe later in the summer, for all our friends and family, but we really wanted to do this now for us."

"Hey, if we didn't already have most everything done," Robert joked, smiling at Skates, "I'd probably have the same idea. But our mothers would kill us for different reasons."

"Anyway, you're both invited," Mac continued, "and Skates, Harm and I were hoping you'd stand up for us. He's also planning to ask Tuna. Father Gilly's going to perform a ceremony in sickbay for us. I think that will be it – unless Harm wants to invite a few of his pilot friends from when he was here before." She tried to control her grimace, remembering the chilly reception she'd received in the chapel that morning. Even after a year and a half, many of them had not forgotten X-Man's trial or the way he'd been forced to give up his wings, even if the last wasn't directly her fault.

Skates caught the flash of distaste before Mac masked her expression, understanding immediately. "I saw Tuna when I was still in sickbay," she commented. "I understand you received a less than welcome reception at the prayer service this morning. I'm sorry about that."

Mac shrugged. "Well, the plan is tomorrow that Harm and I will be getting off this boat," she rationalized. "Why worry about it? If it's important to Harm that some of his old squadron mates are there, I can live with that. Anyway, I prosecuted you and, if you agree, you'll be standing up for me."

"Now there's irony for you," Robert joked, remembering his own assumptions when he'd first met Mac in Norfolk. "Well, I can't answer for Beth, but I'd be happy to attend. I think we can use something to celebrate after last night."

"Yeah, I'll be there, too," Skates said, her tone not as certain, although she tried to mask it. "And I'd be happy to stand up for you."

"Thank you," Mac said, brushing aside the hesitation she heard in Skates' voice. Or maybe she was just imagining it, projecting her own uncertainty into the other woman's tone. "I, um, guess I should get going. I need to get ready." She glanced at the uniform and leather jacket she wore and chuckled ruefully. "Not exactly my dream wedding dress, or outfit I guess, since I'm wearing pants." Not to mention the fact that she hadn't been assigned guest quarters. She guessed she'd have to find the head nearest sickbay. At least it wouldn't be quite as cramped as the head she'd changed in on the _Watertown_.

"I can't do anything about the outfit," Skates said. "I have a few nice dresses that I wear when I go on liberty, but I doubt any of them would fit you. But I do have a curling iron and some makeup, if you'd like some help getting ready."

"Yeah, that would be great, Skates," she replied. "I hadn't really thought about what I would do to get ready."

"Okay, then," Skates said. Turning to her fiancé, she playfully shoved him towards the door. "You. Out."

Although he was pretty sure he didn't want to stick around for what he was sure would amount to a bunch of girl talk, he put up a teasing token protest. "And do what?" he asked.

"I don't know," she replied, pretending frustration. "Go find the PAO and talk shop, or get together with Tuna and see if you can do anything for Hammer. I don't care. Just get out of here and I'll meet you in sickbay in forty-five minutes."

"Fine," he retorted, putting on his best puppy-dog expression. "A guy knows when he's not wanted."

"You!" Skates countered, giving him a very quick kiss, conscious of the senior officer in the room, before opening the door for him. She lowered her voice as she stuck her head out the door, watching him start down the passageway. "I love you, Robert."

"I love you, too, Elizabeth," he replied. She watched him walk away for another moment before stepping back into her cabin, closing the door behind her. Avoiding looking at Mac, she retrieved her curling iron and set it on the desk, plugging it into the outlet behind the desk to heat. "I've got a hair dryer as well, if you want to wash your hair, or take a quick shower …."

"Skates, would you like to tell me what's bothering you?" Mac asked. She wasn't sure why she was asking, wasn't even sure that Skates would breech protocol to say just what was on her mind. Maybe she wanted to hear someone else express the doubts she couldn't quite suppress in her own mind.

"It's not my place, ma'am," she replied, falling back on formality.

"No, I want to hear this," Mac insisted, turning around to lean over the back of the chair, resting her chin on her folded arms. "Forget about rank for a while. You're Harm's friend and you're going to stand up at my wedding. I want to hear what you're thinking."

"I'm not so sure that you do," Skates countered stiffly.

"I'm not going to hurt him," Mac said softly. "I love him, more than I thought I could love anyone. You know what that's like."

Skates glanced up at the ceiling, attempting to frame her response properly. She did like Mac, but she'd seen and heard too much in the time she'd been partnered with Harm in the air. A little knowledge …. "But you already have," she said softly. She was instantly apologetic. "Damn. Look, maybe this isn't such a good idea."

"Are you talking about the last two days or something else?" Mac asked, grabbing her arm to stop her before she could retreat to the other side of the room.

Skates sighed. There was no way she was going to get out of this, was she? "Hammer was spectacular out there," she explained. "He received the highest score of all the pilots, even after that rough wave-off on our first attempt. I don't know if he told you about that when you talked to him last night. But he took no joy in it. His responses were textbook perfect, almost automated. But that's not Hammer. It's not the way he flies."

"No, it's not," she agreed sadly. "And I know that it's partly my fault, especially after what happened in Norfolk." She hesitated. It had been hard enough getting into that with Harriet and Chloe and she knew them better than just about anyone. "Anyway, there are two sides to every story and Harm's made his share of mistakes in our relationship, going back to when he returned to active flight status."

"He was happy being back in the air back then," Skates recalled, "but there was sadness there, too. He resisted talking about what he left behind in Washington. Tuna and I both got the impression that very few people were happy that he left JAG and I think he was a little, uh, concerned about the reception he would get when he decided to go back."

"I know I could have been a little – no, a lot – more supportive," Mac rationalized, "but he hurt me, too. He didn't even tell me he'd had surgery to correct his vision, didn't mention that he wanted to return to active flight status until he'd already given the request to the Admiral. I accused him of considering flying as more important that, um, everything he had in Washington and the way he left with barely a word seemed to confirm that."

"As long as we're being open and honest, tell me something," Skates requested. In for a penny, in for a pound. She wondered what Mac was thinking that she wanted to hear someone else's doubts about her relationship. "I, uh, heard a couple of corpsman talking when I was still in sickbay. They said that Hammer might not fly again, that the multiple ejections might now prove to be too much for him to recover from."

"Harm and I have already been informed of that," Mac said slowly. Her eyes widened as she realized what Skates was getting at. "What are you asking me, how I would feel if Harm can't pass the flight physical? I admit I would be lying if there isn't a small part of me, deep down inside, that would not be disappointed if he were to never climb into the cockpit of an F-14 again. But Harm and I have also managed to work out some of the issues that have haunted us since he was here before. I don't have to question where I stand in his priorities anymore, especially compared to a Tomcat. Tell me something. You're in a relationship with someone who's based on land. You're probably lucky if you see him a handful of times a year. Have you never even thought about some of the same things that managed to tear Harm and I apart for so long, ever had your careers come between you?"

"Yes, I have thought about them," she replied, her voice quiet with a just barely detectible tremor. "Robert and I have had many long discussions about our careers and what they mean to us. That's why I made the decision to request a transfer to a land-based assignment."

"You're giving up your wings?" Mac asked, surprised. Skates nodded.

"It wasn't a decision I made lightly," she explained. "And I even made Robert play devil's advocate, just to be sure I was making the right decision. He said in the end that he would support whatever decision I made, but I want this. Robert and I have talked about starting a family, which I can't very well do if I'm on a carrier six months out of the year, at least not very easily. And because of regs, we can't both serve on the same carrier if he were to request a sea assignment."

"I've always known what flying means to Harm," Mac said. She told herself that she would not cry. She'd shed all her tears on that subject long ago. "All I wanted two years ago was to know that it wasn't his entire world, that I could fit into his world somewhere. I didn't necessarily want him to give up his dreams. If he'd asked me to, I would have been there for him. But he never asked and the longer we went with so little contact, the easier it was to believe that he didn't care about me as much as I did about him." Skates looked like she was about to say something, but Mac held up her hand. "And I'm sure now that the reverse was also true, that Harm was hoping I would reach out just as much as I wanted him to."

"Mac, I will admit that I'm not the most objective person," Skates said. "Harm saved my life back on the Sea Hawk, he stood by me when everyone from Captain Ingles on down wanted my head on a platter. And I know I've seen more than I should have, how it hurt him when he wouldn't hear from his friends back in Washington, how happy he was to see you when you were here but sad that you couldn't seem to really connect, and how it would have been the hardest thing in the world for him to watch you marry another man. I just want to see him happy, and if you can do that for him …."

"Skates, there's nothing that I want more," Mac interrupted, her voice soft, yet determined. "If I could go back and change so much that happened over the last two years – be more supportive of Harm's pursuing his dream, not agree to marry a man I don't love – I would. But all we can is move forward and make the best of the second chance that we've been given."

Skates lowered her eyes. She felt bad about bringing all this up. It really was none of her business and she was still a junior officer. Mac's sincerity and the love she could see in her eyes for Harm tugged at Skates' heart strings. She smiled warmly. "You know, if you want to get that shower, you probably should get going," she suggested. "You're getting married in …."

"Forty-two minutes," Mac supplied as she rose from her chair. At Skates' surprised look, she shrugged. "I've got great timing." Realizing what she'd just said, she burst out laughing.

"What's so funny?" Skates asked.

"That's what I told Harm," she remembered, "the first day we met, when I told him we had thirty-three minutes to catch our flight to Arizona."

Skates joined her in laughing, the fond memory telling her that there were a lot of good things in Harm and Mac's relationship that she knew next to nothing about. She was being too judgmental, she decided. "Why don't you get going?" she suggested. "The hair dryer is on a shelf above the toilet."

"Skates," Mac said, poised to step into the bathroom. Skates turned to her, a questioning look on her face. "Thanks, um, for being honest. I do love him and everything will work out."

"I hope so," Skates whispered after Mac had closed the bathroom door behind her. A thoughtful expression crossed her face as her eyes fell on a velvet jewelry box sitting on her desk. Picking it up, she pulled it open and stared at the contents. The box was a little waterlogged – it had been in a pocket of her flight suit when she'd gone down the night before – but the contents were still in perfect condition.

Snapping the box closed, she picked up the phone and dialed communications. "Hey, Jess," she said as her roommate came on the line. "Just the person I was hoping to catch. I need a favor – two actually. Page Robert and patch him through down here …. I'm not sure where he is; I tossed him out of the cabin a few minutes ago. I'm helping some friends out with some stuff …. Yes, and do you still have that dress that you wore when we were on liberty in Spain? You know, the cream-colored sleeveless one …. Okay, Hammer's getting married in sickbay and if I don't find something for her to wear, Mac's going to have to wear Marine green …. I won't tell her you said that. That's a Lieutenant Colonel in the Marines you're talking about there …. she's about your size and the color would look great on her …. Jess, you are a lifesaver. Thanks."

Hanging up the phone, she went to the closet and pulled out the dress in question. The linen dress was simple, but the form-fitting sleeveless design had turned heads when Jess had worn it in Barcelona. Hardly a typical wedding dress, but for the small ceremony that Harm and Mac were going to have, it would be perfect. Going back into the closet, she pulled out a dress for herself, a pale blue one similar to the other dress except that hers had elbow-length sleeves. Swiftly peeling off the PT outfit she'd been wearing, she pulled pantyhose then the dress, slipping on a pair of flats. Perfect, she thought as the phone rang.

"Hey, Robert," she said in a rush after she picked up the phone. "I was just thinking. Harm and Mac have been through a lot and deserve to have a ceremony as perfect as we can make it. I found dresses that Mac and I can wear instead of our uniforms, but something occurred to me. They don't have wedding rings. I don't even think either of them have thought about it."

"If ours will fit, they can have those," Robert said. "We have five weeks to find another set of rings."

"One of the reasons I love you so much," Skates replied. "You're reading my mind. I'll have Mac try my ring on and see if she knows what size Harm wears."

"Good," Robert said. He hesitated a moment. "Beth, is everything okay? I got the feeling that you weren't exactly enthusiastic at Mac's news."

"You noticed that," she said, imagining his responding nod. "Well, I know some things – probably too much for my own good – and I was worried about a good friend. But Mac and I talked and everything's okay. She and Harm have been through a lot and deserve to be happy."

"She told me about some of her and Harm's adventures last night," he said. "They've been through a lot together and that's a strong bond, but I could also see how much she loves him. It was so obvious last night."

Skates figured that as talkative as Mac had been, there was still a lot that she hadn't said about her and Harm's relationship, not to Robert. Even to her, she hadn't given a lot of specifics. "You know, it's kind of funny," she commented. "I've always gotten the impression that she's a private person."

"The last twelve hours have been very hard on her," he pointed out. "I guess even the most private person would need to talk to someone. I think last night she could relate to me because we were in a similar situation and you are a fellow bride, in addition to being Harm's friend."

"I guess," she said, not quite convinced. There was still something that she couldn't quite put her finger on, but she decided that it didn't really matter. As the bathroom door opened and Mac stepped out, she added, "I'll see you in sickbay in a little bit, Robert. Thanks."

After she hung up, she turned to Mac. "That was fast," she said.

"I've learned how to be ready to go at a moment's notice," she said. She eyed Skates, a bit surprised at her appearance. "Nice dress."

"Thanks," Skates said, turning around and picking up the dress she'd hung on the bed frame. "This one's for you. My roommate's about your size, although I think she's a couple of inches taller than you, so the dress might be a little long."

"I don't know …." Mac began. This seemed almost too much.

"Jess was happy to help out when I asked her," Skates assured her, handing her the dress. "Her feet are larger than yours, but I think I have some shoes close to the same color as the dress that will fit you. Sorry we can't do anything about flowers. Fresh flowers are not something you're going to find aboard ship. But even if you're going to have another ceremony with a proper dress and flowers and all that later, that doesn't mean we can't make today as special as possible."

"I've got Harm," Mac said, "and I've decided that's all I need. I had the perfect dress, a cathedral, and enough pomp and circumstance to rival a royal wedding and the entire time I felt like I was watching someone else live my life. It wasn't what I wanted, no matter how hard I tried to convince myself otherwise."

"And Harm is?" she inquired, already knowing the answer.

Mac's entire face lit up as she simply replied, "Yes."

Skates gestured to the desk chair as she picked up the hot curling iron. "Then take a seat and let's finish getting you ready," she said. "By the way, the box on the desk is for you – you and Harm, really. Consider it a wedding present from me and Robert."

As Skates went back into the bathroom to grab a comb and hair spray, Mac picked up the jewelry box, startled to find that it was damp. Snapping it open, her eyes widened in surprise. She turned around as Skates came back into the room. "These are beautiful, but this really is too much," she insisted, shutting the box and setting it back on the desk. "These are supposed to be your wedding rings."

"You two should be able to exchange rings," Skates pointed out, combing out a section of Mac's hair and wrapping it around the iron, holding it for a few seconds then releasing the curl. "I had those in one of the pockets of my flight suit. I'm not sure why. I'd put them in my duffel bag at first, then something made me take them out and carry them on me. I guess someone was trying to tell me something."

"These survived the crash?"

She nodded. "Anyway, Robert and I still have five weeks before our wedding," she pointed out. "We can easily go shopping for rings. It's …. well, I won't say that it isn't a big deal, but we both agree that we wanted you and Harm to have them." She studied Mac's hand critically. "I think mine will fit you. Do you know what size ring Harm wears?"

"He was making a joke earlier about using his Academy ring as an engagement ring," she said, hesitantly pulling the smaller ring out of the box and studying it. The white gold band had starburst patterns cut into the ring all the way around. Slowly, she slipped it on her finger, somehow not surprised to find that it fit almost perfectly. It was a little loose, but not too much so that she couldn't wear the ring. "He said it would be about five or six sizes too large for me, so I'd say an eleven or twelve."

"Then Robert's ring should fit him fine," Skates said. "The rings can be your something new, your dress is borrowed." She paused thoughtfully, tapping her finger against her cheek. She crossed the small room to her lock box and dialed the combination, withdrawing a long, flat velvet box. "These belonged to my grandmother and even though I rarely have an opportunity to wear them, I keep them with me out of sentimental value – carefully locked away, of course." She opened the box and showed Mac the single strand of pearls. "You can borrow these for your something old. I'm not sure what to do for the something blue. I don't suppose you have anything blue on you."

Mac shook her head. "I didn't expect to be getting married," she pointed out, then laughed. Well, at least she hadn't after last night. She hadn't really thought about any of this for her wedding to Mic. "And I've never really paid attention to superstitions."

"I guess there's not a lot we can do about it," Skates said practically, "so I guess your attendant in blue will have to do for the last part." She finished curling the last section of Mac's hair and ran her fingers through it to fluff out the curls. She got a hand mirror from the bathroom and handed it to Mac.

"It's beautiful," Mac said, her eyes tearing up unexpectedly. "You're pretty good at that."

"When I was a teen," she explained, "my friends and I would have sleepovers almost every week and we'd sit up to all hours, fixing each other's hair, putting on makeup. Didn't you ever do anything like that when you were a kid?" She was sorry she asked as soon as she saw the brief flash of pain in the other woman's eyes.

"I didn't really have a lot of friends growing up," Mac said simply. She managed a smile as she added, "I do have a fourteen-year-old sister. We do stuff like that when she visits. She is going to be so disappointed she missed this. She told me once she had this dream that she was flower girl at my wedding to Harm."

"Then I guess it's a good thing you're not going to have any flowers," Skates said with a laugh. "How much time to we have left?" She glanced at her watch, but was curious to see if Mac could do it again.

"Fourteen minutes," she replied with a knowing smile, having noticed Skates' gesture. She stood and gestured to the chair. "Sit. I'll fix your hair and then we'll be ready to go …. I think."

"Butterflies?" Skates asked.

"I don't think that quite covers it," Mac said, laughing nervously. "All I have to say is that I hope I don't wake up from this dream anytime soon."

-----

SICKBAY

"She once said she's a sucker for the dress whites," Harm related with a cough, looking down at his khaki uniform shirt. Tuna had searched the bag Mac had brought of Harm's things and pulled out the uniform and Doctor Reed had consented to disconnect the various monitors and the IV long enough for Harm to don his uniform and climb back into bed, which was only accomplished with Robert and Tuna standing on either side of Harm, ready to steady him. At least Reed had agreed to let the oxygen mask stay off at least through the ceremony and perhaps longer depending on how his breathing sounded. Harm was trying to limit his coughing, feeling the doctor's eyes on him with every spasm, but it took a lot more than simple willpower.

"That's what you get for being the size you are and a Commander in JAG to boot," Tuna pointed out. "Even if we could find a dress uniform to fit you among the other officers on the ship, you'd either end up with JAG shoulder boards which don't have your proper rank or a Commander's shoulder boards with a line officer's star. At least you're not out of uniform. And it's not like Mac has anything special to wear. She's going to be wearing her uniform, too."

"Uh, actually …. " Robert began as Father Gilly entered, accompanied by Captain Ingles. Robert and Tuna snapped to attention while Harm attempted to do the same, propped up in his bed.

"At ease," Ingles said. "Commander Rabb."

"Captain," Harm said with a nod.

"Father Gilly told me what's going on," Ingles said. "It's a bit unusual."

Harm masked his apprehension, hoping that Ingles wasn't about to deny permission for the ceremony to take place. Technically, he could do so. Nothing happened on the ship without the captain's permission. "Sir …." he began.

"Captain Pike has gone to find Colonel Mackenzie and Lieutenant Hawkes," Ingles continued, as if Harm hadn't spoken. "He offered to personally escort them back here."

"Commander Rabb," Reed said, brandishing his stethoscope, "I need to check your breathing." With an impatient sigh, Harm tolerated the brief examination. "Your lungs are sounding better. Just try to remember what I told you earlier. As soon as the ceremony is over, you will get some sleep. Now, if that requires administering a sedative, I will do that." Reed made a note in Harm's chart, then walked off.

"He put the kibosh on the whole reception thing that Robert and I were talking about," Tuna said quietly. "Although it really wouldn't have been much of one considering the food was going to come from the mess. But we got him to compromise. If you're up to it, you and your lovely bride will get a, um, nice wedding breakfast before you get shipped off to Portsmouth." He snickered, knowing the nice wasn't a term usually applied to food coming from the mess.

"Thanks, man," Harm said in the midst of another coughing spasm. He glanced around, but Doctor Reed wasn't in the room at the moment. "At least he's not throwing Mac out of here after the ceremony."

"And too bad you're not in any condition to, um, appreciate the Colonel's charms," Tuna joked. He glanced away at the hard look Harm gave him, only to discover that Ingles wore a similar expression. "Um, I apologize, Sir."

"Just be glad that the Colonel didn't hear you say that," Ingles replied with a perfectly straight face, although Harm thought there was a gleam in his eye as he said it.

Captain Pike stuck his head through the hatch. "Is everyone ready in here?" he asked.

"Commander?" Gilly asked, turning to Harm.

Harm took a deep breath and nodded. "Let's do this," he said, forcing down the nervousness in the pit of his stomach.

Pike turned around and nodded to someone behind him, then stepped into the room and took up position at the foot the bed beside Ingles, Robert and Reed, who had just returned from his office after shedding his lab coat. Tuna stood at the head of the bed on Harm's right side, Gilly in the same position on his left, his Bible clasped in his hands.

Skates stepped into the room, slowly walking towards the bed as if taking a real walk down the aisle, smiling at her fiancé. Harm's eyes widened slightly at her attire; he'd been expecting them to show up in their uniforms. What would Mac be wearing?

He could feel her presence before he lifted his eyes to the doorway as she stepped over the knee knocker and started towards the bed, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, her fingers turning white with the strain. Smiling nervously, she took up position between Skates and Gilly at the head of the bed, her eyes meeting Harm's.

"You look beautiful, Sarah," he whispered hoarsely.

Mac felt herself tearing up at his simple statement. "Not too bad yourself, flyboy," she replied, just as quietly.

"It's no dress whites," he countered.

She reached out and traced the outline of his gold wings and said a silent prayer that he'd come back and be able to retain his flight status. He wouldn't be the same if that was lost to him permanently. "As long as we get married before the fall, I'll see the whites then," she pointed out.

At the end of the bed, Reed cleared his throat. Everyone laughed a little. "I think the good doctor is trying to remind us to get moving with the ceremony so the Commander can get his rest," Gilly said with a grin.

"I take it the doctor's not Catholic," Mac said, quietly enough that only Gilly and Harm heard her. "There is no such thing as a short Catholic ceremony."

Both laughed for a moment before Harm's chuckle turned to a cough. As he leaned forward, trying to catch his breath, Mac rubbed soothing circles over his back. "Looks like you've got the 'in sickness and in health' part down," Tuna joked.

"Okay, that's enough," Harm said was he leaned back against the raised head of the bed. "Stop making me laugh."

"If we're all done joking," Gilly said, "are we ready?" Harm and Mac looked at each other for a long moment, then nodded slowly, Mac nibbling on her lower lip.

"In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit," Gilly began, crossing himself. The Catholics in the room followed suit, Harm stopping midway with a grimace when he inadvertently tugged too hard on his IV tubing. He glanced apologetically at the priest, who nodded that it was okay. "We are gathered here today in the sight of God and angels, and the presence of friends, to celebrate one of life's greatest moments, to give recognition to the worth and beauty of love, and to add our best wishes and blessings to the words which shall unite Harmon and Sarah in holy matrimony.

"Marriage is a most honorable estate, created and Instituted by God, signifying unto us the mystical union, which also exists between Christ and the Church; so too may this marriage be adorned by true and abiding love."

Harm reached up and brushed a falling tear from Mac cheek and she leaned into his palm, mouthing 'I love you'. Behind her, Skates blinked, trying to keep at bay her own threatening tears. She turned her head slightly and caught Robert's eye and received a reassuring smile, as if he were telling her that everything would be just fine. She nodded slightly and turned her attention back to the ceremony.

The priest continued, "Harmon and Sarah, life is given to each of us as individuals, and yet we must learn to live together. Loveis given to us by our family and friends. We learn to love by being loved. Learning to love and living together is one of life's greatest challenges and is the shared goal of a married life."

_I think we've got the challenge part down right,_ Mac thought. She was under no illusion that they wouldn't have difficulties. Mic and Renee's continued presence just about guaranteed that. But for this moment, none of that seemed to matter. There were so many possibilities and she looked forward to being able to explore them.

"But a husband and wife should not confuse love of worldly measures for even if worldly success is found, only love will maintain a marriage. Mankind did not create love; love is created by God. The measure of true love is a love both freely given and freely accepted, just as God's love of us is unconditional and free," Gilly recited. "Today truly is a glorious day the Lord hath made - as today both of youare blessed with God's greatest of all gifts - the gift of abiding love and devotion between a man and a woman. All present here today - and those here in heart - wish both of you all the joy, happiness and success and the world has to offer.

"As you travel through life together, I caution you to remember that the true measure of success, the true avenue to joy and peace, is to be found within the love youhold in your hearts. I would ask that you hold the key to your heart very tightly.

"Within the Bible, nothing is of more importance than love. We are told the crystalline and beautiful truth: '_God is Love'._ We are assured that '_Love conquers all'_.It is love, which brings you here today, the union of two hearts and two spirits. As your lives continue to interweave as one pattern, remember that it was love that brought you here today, it is love that will make this a glorious union, and it is love which will cause this union to endure."

Harm had never really thought about it, but he hoped that Gilly was right, that love could conquer all. There had been so many obstacles in their path and there would be more to come. Something of his thoughts must have shown in his expression, because Mac shot him a quick questioning glance. He grinned at her, telling himself that none of that would matter today. Today was theirs.

Gilly motioned to Tuna, who opened a Bible he held, given to him earlier by Father Gilly, and read, "A reading from the Book of Solomon - Listen! My lover! Look! Here he comes, leaping across the mountains, bounding over the hills. My lover is like a gazelle or a young stag. Look! There he stands behind our wall, gazing through the windows, peering through the lattice. My lover spoke and said to me, 'Arise, my darling, my beautiful one, and come with me. See! The winter is past; the rains are over and gone. Flowers appear on the earth; the season of singing has come, the cooing of doves is heard in our land. The fig tree forms its early fruit; the blossoming vines spread their fragrance. Arise, come, my darling; my beautiful one, come with me.' My dove in the clefts of the rock, in the hiding places on the mountainside, show me your face, let me hear your voice; for your voice is sweet, and your face is lovely. My lover is mine and I am his; he browses among the lilies. This is the word of the Lord."

"Thanks be to God," everyone replied.

"The response is," Tuna continued, "'O blessed are those who fear the Lord and walk in his ways'."

"'O blessed are those who fear the Lord and walk in his ways'," the group repeated.

"O blessed are those who fear the Lord and walk in his ways!" Tuna read. "By the labor of your hands you shall eat. You will be happy and prosper."

He motioned and everyone dutifully repeated the response. "Your wife like a fruitful vine in the heart of your house," he said. "Your children like shoots of the olive around your table."

After the response was repeated again, he continued, "Indeed thus shall be blest all those who fear the Lord. May the Lord bless you from Zion all the days of your life!"

After the final response, Tuna passed the Bible to Robert, who continued, "A reading from the first letter of Paul to the Corinthians - If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing. Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when perfection comes, the imperfect disappears. When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me. Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known. And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love. This is the word of the Lord."

"Thanks be to God."

Gilly opened his Bible to a bookmarked page and began, "The Lord be with you."

"And also with you."

He recited, "A reading from the holy Gospel according to Matthew."

"Glory to you, Lord."

Gilly read from the Bible, "'Haven't you read,' he replied, 'that at the beginning the Creator made them male and female,' and said, For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and the two will become one flesh' So they are no longer two, but one. Therefore what God has joined together, let man not separate'. This is the Gospel of the Lord."

"Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ."

Gilly closed his Bible and focused his attention on the couple in front of him. "Normally, this would be the point where I would say a few words about the bride and groom. Of course, I've only known the bride for a very short time and haven't seen the groom in a year and a half …. but that doesn't mean I have nothing to say. Sometimes, you can get as clear a picture about people by talking to their friends and I've managed to hear a few stories about you two from those gathered here."

"I guess I told Robert a little too much last night," Mac murmured, just loud enough that everyone heard her comment and laughed.

"Don't worry, they were all good stories and I heard a few from Tuna as well," Gilly assured her as the laughter died away. "People toss about words like 'fate' and 'destiny' and a lot would say that those words apply to a couple who met in a rose garden. But something else struck me when I heard some of the stories that you've told your friends. In the years that you two have known each other, you've been through many trials and there seems to be one commonality in all the stories – everything that you have been through, you've been through together. You've supported and bolstered each other during probably some of the toughest times of your lives, if the stories are to be believed. Sarah's presence here on the _Henry_ today is a testament to that. In our reading from 1 Corinthians, Paul talks about how love protects and perseveres. Your relationship seems to be the epitome of that statement. Even when we don't recognize its presence, love is always there, sheltering and guiding us. It has lead you through all your trials and brought you here, to this moment. Harmon and Sarah, you have recognized this truth and have come here today to declare your love and solidify the commitment which you seem to have always shared. Please join your right hands as you declare your vows to each other."

Mac reached over and clasped Harm's hand in hers, careful not to pull it too far towards her, conscious of the IV tubing which had already been yanked on once. She was surprised to discover that his hand was trembling as much as hers. They only had eyes for each other as Gilly continued, "Harmon, do you take Sarah to be your wife? Do you promise to love, honor, cherish and protect her, for richer and poorer, in sickness and health, forsaking all others and holding only to her forevermore?"

"I do," he replied firmly, granting her a dazzling smile.

"Sarah, do you take Harmon to be your husband? Do you promise to love, honor, cherish and protect him, for richer and poorer, in sickness and health, forsaking all others and holding only to him forevermore?" Gilly recited.

"I do," she replied, surprised that her voice didn't tremble as her fingers were. Her tone matched the firmness and certainty she heard in Harm's tone. They were doing the right thing, she told herself.

"May I have the rings, please?" Gilly asked. Skates set the rings on top of the priest's Bible, smiling warmly in response to a questioning glance from Harm, who was learning of the rings for the first time. He'd been so anxious to marry Mac that he'd never stopped to consider rings, aside from the joke about using his Academy ring as an engagement ring. "Wedding rings are an outward and visible sign of an inward spiritual grace, signifying to all the uniting of this man and this woman in marriage. These rings are a symbol of the unbroken circle of love. Love freely given has no beginning and no end, no giver and no receiver for each is the giver and each is the receiver. May these rings always remind you of the vows you have taken." He held the open Bible out to Harm. "Take this ring and place it on the third finger of Sarah's left hand as you repeat after me. With this ring, I thee wed in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen."

Harm took the ring and slowly slid the ring onto Mac's finger, repeating the vow. After he slipped the ring into place, he squeezed her fingers, lifting her hand to his lips for a quick kiss.

"Now, Sarah," Gilly said, turning to her, "take this ring and place it on the third finger of Harmon's left hand as you repeat after me. With this ring, I thee wed in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen."

She slipped the ring on his finger – it fit him perfectly – as she repeated the words. When she was finished, she echoed his actions by lifting his hand to her lips. Their hands remained clasped as Gilly continued.

"Harmon and Sarah, as the two of you come into this marriage uniting you as husband and wife, and as you this day affirm your faith and love for one another, I would ask that you always remember to cherish each other as special and unique individuals, that you respect the thoughts, ideas and suggestions of one another. Be able to forgive, do not hold grudges, and live each day that you may share it together - as from this day forward you shall be each other's home, comfort and refuge, your marriage strengthened by your love and respect.

"Now bow your heads and pray for God's blessing on your union - Dear heavenly Father, our hearts are filled with great happiness on Harmon and Sarah's wedding day, as they come before You pledging their hearts and lives to one another. Grant that they may be ever true and loving, living together is such a way as to never bring shame or heartbreak into their marriage. Temper their hearts with kindness and understanding, rid them of all pretense of jealousy. Help them to remember to be each other's sweetheart, helpmate, friend and guide, so that together they may meet the cares and problems of life more bravely. And with the passage of time, may the home they are creating today, truly be a place of love and harmony, where your spirit is ever present. Bless this union we pray, and walk beside Harmon and Sarah throughout all their lives together. We ask these things in Jesus name. Amen."

"Amen," everyone echoed as they lifted their gazes.

"Harmon and Sarah, in so much as the two of you have agreed to live together in Matrimony, have promised your love for each other by these vows, the giving of these rings and the joining of your hands, I now declare you to be husband and wife in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen," the priest intoned, crossing himself. The other Catholics followed suit. "May the Lord bless you and keep you. May the Lord make his face shine upon you, and be gracious unto you. May the Lord lift up his countenance unto you, and give you peace." There seemed to be a pause before Gilly added, "You may now kiss your bride."

Mac leaned down and brushed her lips against Harm's, grasping his shoulders to steady herself. She was so excited and nervous that she wasn't entirely sure how she'd managed to stand upright through the ceremony.

Harm wanted to wrap his arms around her, but couldn't reach without yanking on the IV again, so he settled for covering her hands with his as he deepened the kiss as much as he dared in front of their audience, gently parting her lips with his tongue. They finally broke apart with a laugh as Robert and Tuna exclaimed, "Hoorah."

"May I present for the first time Commander and Mrs. Harmon Rabb, Jr. Sorry there's no Arch, ma'am," Tuna added, "but 'Go Navy!'"

"You do realize that Harm just married into the Corps, don't you?" Mac teased. The rest of the groups wore mock expressions of horror, except Harm, who tried but couldn't seem to wipe the smile off his face. Mac laughed as Harm wrapped his free left arm around her waist and pulled her against his side.

After a few moments of congratulations and good natured teasing about the hasty wedding – Tuna even threw in a joke about how many months it would be before the bride delivered her first child, causing Mac to blush profusely even as she insisted that she wasn't yet pregnant – Doctor Reed said, raising his voice to be heard over the din, "I hate to break this up, but Commander Rabb is supposed to rest now and I'm sure the Colonel could use some herself. So let's please wrap this up quickly."

"Master of all ye survey," Tuna joked as he shook Harm's hand and kissed Mac's cheek. "We will be back tomorrow morning with your wedding breakfast and maybe we'll see if we can put together an Arch on the deck before you leave for Portsmouth."

Gilly picked up a clipboard with the wedding certificate on it. He'd already filled in the names and date, now he passed it around to Tuna, Skates, Harm and Mac to sign before affixing his own signature as the officiator. He handed the completed certificate to Mac, who held it gingerly, trying not to crumble or muse it.

"Captain," a young man wearing ensign's bars called out, stepping up to Ingles and handing him a videotape.

"Thank you, Ensign," he replied before handing the tape to Mac. "Ensign Richards, our PAO, stood in the doorway and taped the ceremony."

"Thank you, Captain," Mac replied, Harm echoing her after a moment.

"Captain Pike, let me know as soon as you have something on that matter we discussed," Ingles said. Shortly before the ceremony, word had come that the wreckage of Navy 214 had been found. Crews were retrieving as much as they could and transporting it to Norfolk so the engineers could figure out what had caused the massive systems failure which had sent the Tomcat into the water.

"Yes, Sir," Pike said with a nod. Ingles turned on his heel and left sickbay. "Hammer, Colonel, congratulations. I'm glad everything worked out for you after Hammer returned to JAG."

"Thank you, Sir," Mac replied, hesitancy just barely detectible in her voice. If they really had worked things out after Harm had returned to JAG, they wouldn't be here today. Harm noticed and tightened his arm around her waist.

"It was a beautiful ceremony," Skates said, wiping her eyes as she leaned over to kiss Harm's cheek and hugged Mac.

"Thank you, Skates," Mac said gratefully as she returned the hug, blinking back her own tears. "You've been a huge help."

"Just remember to let us know when you have another wedding," Skates requested as she took Robert's hand.

"You'll be among the first to know," Harm promised. "And we're looking forward to your wedding."

Skates laughed as she and Robert walked out, "I guess you'll be bringing Mac after all."

As Harm laughed, Mac shot him a questioning glance. "Last night, after I called you, I was talking to Tuna and Skates," Harm explained. "When they heard that you weren't, uh, getting married, Tuna suggested I get you to accompany me to Skates' wedding as my date."

"Well, since we're married," Mac replied, "I suppose we should try the dating thing, just to say that we did date, even if it was after the fact."

"I've never thought of that," Harm said thoughtfully, pausing to get past a cough, "going on a date with my wife."

"Which part did you not think of – the date part or the wife part?" Mac teased, just a hint of seriousness behind the question.

"I love you, Sarah Mackenzie," he said, tracing a circle on her hip with his finger. She looked at him and smiled softly, her eyes burning bright.

"That's Sarah Rabb," she pointed out, "at least in private for now."

"Okay," he conceded. "I love you, Sarah Rabb." He stretched up to kiss her, only to be interrupted by a discreet cough.

"Out of that uniform, Commander," Reed reminded him firmly, although a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, "and then bed."

Harm groused as a corpsman disconnected the IV tubing so he could remove his shirt, while Mac patted his hand. "I'll be back in a few minutes," she said. "My uniform is still in Skates' cabin and I should return the dress to her roommate."

He managed a grin at the thought of her peeling out of the simple dress she wore, disappointed that he wouldn't be able to do it for her. Mac sensed the direction of his thoughts and returned his grin. "Hold that thought for later," she whispered against his ear.

She squeezed his hand, then walked out, watching him over her shoulder with a smile. _Rabb, you are a lucky man_, he thought.

-----

To be continued…


	10. Chapter 10

ABOUT THE SAME TIME AS THE WEDDING  
A.J. CHEGWIDDEN'S RESIDENCE   
MCLEAN, VIRGINIA

_This is Chuck Roberts for ZNN Headline News. Our top story is the crash of a Navy F-14 Tomcat in the Atlantic Ocean about 100 miles east of Cape Fear, North Carolina shortly before midnight last night. The Navy has now released the names of the two pilots who were rescued this morning. They are Commander Harmon Rabb, Jr., 37, of Washington DC and Lieutenant Elizabeth Hawkes, 30, of Pensacola, Florida. They were flying from the carrier USS Patrick Henry to Norfolk Naval Air Station in Virginia when they went down during a storm. Commander Rabb, a decorated pilot who has twice been awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross, now serves as a lawyer with the Navy's Judge Advocate General Corps Headquarters in Washington and was aboard the carrier for his carrier landing qualifications. When asked why a lawyer would be flying off a carrier, a Navy spokesman said that it is not unusual for former pilots to keep up their flight qualifications if they are able and that Commander Rabb had received the highest score of the pilots completing their qualifications aboard the ship. The Navy refused to speculate as to what caused the plane to go down, only that the wreckage has been located and is being raised from the ocean and an investigation into the cause of the crash is ongoing. In other news …._

Trish, whose eyes had been transfixed to the screen as they showed footage of a Coast Guard salvage vessel pulling a piece of a wing of the Tomcat out of the water, didn't even turn when she heard someone enter the room. "I was wondering when it would start hitting the news," she mused, her voice carefully controlled. She hadn't seen any of the news reports the first time Harm had crashed. By the time the story had hit the airwaves, she and Frank had already been on a plane headed east, first to pick up Sarah from Pennsylvania then on to Landstuhl. By the time they'd reached Germany, the furthest thing from their minds was watching AFN to see what was being said about the crash. She never saw the video of the burned out wreckage of his plane or the scorch marks on the deck of the _Sea Hawk_ where the plane had impacted. Before, it had not seemed real until they reached Landstuhl a day after the crash and saw how bad off Harm was. Now, she couldn't see her son, but she was seeing his plane being pulled out of the water in pieces. It made everything seem more real, brought home just how close she'd come to losing her only child again.

A.J. sat down on the couch next to her, cradling a coffee mug in his hands. "It's been on the news since very early this morning," he said. The television in his office had been turned to ZNN while they'd waited for news at JAG and he'd seen the initial reports which had said little more than a plane had gone down in a thunderstorm, along with the standard line about 'the names of the pilots are being held pending notification of next of kin'. "They're just now releasing the names of the crew." He studied her carefully out of the corner of his eye as he sipped his coffee. To all outward appearances, she was calm and composed with almost no visible sign of the strain she'd been under for the last fifteen hours. Only the tight grip she kept on her own coffee mug, her knuckles turning bone-white, gave her away. "I thought you'd be getting some sleep."

"Couldn't sleep," she said with a tired shrug. "I know Harm has been rescued and by all reports is doing as well as can be expected at this point, but …." She trailed off, staring into the brown liquid filling her mug.

"As a parent, you want to see for yourself that he's okay," A.J. finished the thought. "Or at least talk to him."

Trish laughed softly at that. "I don't know if that would do any good," she said, attempting a joking tone. "If I were to talk to him, he'd insist that he's fine, even if he's not. He wouldn't want me to worry. He takes after his father that way. Harmon used to downplay the danger he was in over in Vietnam, if there is any way to downplay being in the middle of a war."

A.J. was silent, unsure what to say. What did one say to a woman who had lost her husband in the line of duty and had almost lost her son several times? He was saved from having to reply when Trish continued in a soft, faraway voice. "When Harm decided to go to law school and didn't fly for almost five years after his accident, there was a part of me that was glad. I know that sounds awful, hating the thing my son loves to do most in this world, but I told myself that if it came to a choice between him being alive and safe doing something else and him coming home in a pine box because he was doing something he loved, I'd rather he be alive. Of course, I can never tell Harm that. But he can't seem to stay out of trouble, even when he's not flying, can he? I think even if he were to suddenly decide to leave the Navy, he'd still find a way to get into trouble."

"Probably," he replied noncommittally. He was pretty sure that Trish only knew a fraction of some of the things her son had done or gone through and he decided it wasn't his place to fill her in. Privately, he admitted her assessment of Harm was dead on.

"I know, Admiral," Trish said, suddenly turning towards him. She studied him intently and A.J. had the uncomfortable thought that it was almost like she was trying to read his mind. "I probably don't know everything that's happened to Harm since he's joined the Navy. It's almost funny. For all the strain between them for so many years, there are a lot of things Harm would tell Frank before he'd tell me. He thinks he needs to protect me." She laughed softly, bitterly. "Of course, it never occurs to him that it worries me more when I don't know. When he doesn't tell me, it almost seems as though he's trying to hide how dangerous what he's doing is. He did tell me that he was going out to the carrier this week. But it sounded so damn routine, as if he was doing nothing more dangerous than taking a drive around the block. But apparently, his professional life isn't the only thing he hasn't been keeping me filled in on. Sometimes, I just wish my son would talk to me."

"I think that's the wish of just about every parent," he said wistfully, remembering how neither he nor Marcella had known their daughter had dated a Mafioso until investigating after she'd been kidnapped. Francesca had known how her parents would react, so she'd kept quiet. He could see how similar actions by her son could get to Trish.

"Probably," she agreed. "Even if they do open up when they're younger, I think they get to a certain age where they just claim up on you. Of course, Harm grew up at such a young age because of what happened to his father. I think he felt that if he confided in me, he would be burdening me when I had so much to deal with on my own." She stared down at her mug again before changing the subject. "Admiral, on the news, they made a point of mentioning that Harm isn't an active pilot. Could that influence the investigation into the accident?"

"Well, they were right in that it's not unusual for pilots who have moved on to other things in the Navy to still keep up their flight time," he pointed out. "It's unlikely to even be considered as a factor, especially considering how well he did on his quals."

"What about other factors?" she asked, a note of hesitancy in her voice.

"What do you mean?" he countered, confused. "Are you asking if there is a question of pilot error? Or if there's a problem with his eyes again? I mean, obviously, the weather might have been a factor …."

"Not really," she said, sighing. "I'm not sure what I'm asking. I wonder …." She paused, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Admiral, can I ask you something?"

A.J. wasn't sure he wanted to hear her question, just from the hesitancy in her voice as she asked, but he nodded anyway. She took a deep breath, then plunged ahead, "How has Harm been recently? Has there been something, um, I don't know, bothering him? Maybe something that affected his judgment when he was flying home, in spite of how well he did on his quals?"

"What makes you ask that?" he countered. She'd just been saying she wished Harm would talk to her more, so he doubted he had confided in his mother his feelings about Mac's wedding. But what else could she be talking about? As much as he wanted to assure her that Harm didn't let his emotions get in the way of his doing his job, he knew it would be a lie. It was a quality that made him such a passionate advocate in the courtroom and made him so stubborn, sometimes beyond the point of reason.

"I don't know," she admitted. "Just a feeling. I was surprised to hear this morning that Mac was supposed to get married today. Harm never said a word about the fact that his best friend was getting married. And then there was Mac's absence this morning. I only know about her what Harm's told me, but her reaction seems a little extreme for someone who's only a friend. Oh, I would expect her to be upset, but to disappear completely? Her fiancé was upset, and justifiably so, but her sister seemed to be less than concerned about the fact that Mac was nowhere to be found. Almost as if she expected it."

"And?" A.J. asked, realizing where she was going with her questions and knowing that he did not want to get into it. However, it wasn't as if he could easily avoid the subject – not without making her more suspicious than she already appeared to be. Hell, the rate they were going, everyone else was going to figure out what was going on before Mic and Renee did.

"And I'm not sure," she replied. "There are just a lot of facts here that don't seem to make sense. Practically since he's met her, it's been 'Mac said this' or 'Mac did that' – at least until he went back to flying. After that, he hardly talked about her at all. I got the feeling that something had happened sometime when he left – or maybe after he got back - that changed everything, but …. he never would tell me what it was. After a while, I stopped asking." She shook her head as she rose from the couch, walking over to stare out the window. "I'm sorry for going on like that. As a commanding officer, you probably try not to get involved in the personal lives of your people."

A.J. chuckled ruefully. "Sometimes it seems unavoidable," he said. "But being a commanding officer doesn't mean I don't care."

"I know," she said, smiling as she turned away from the window to face him. "You didn't have to open your home to us. Thank you for that. You know, Harm has talked about you, too. He thinks very highly of you …. although I'm sure he's probably driven you crazy at times. He has that affect on people."

They both laughed, the tension eased slightly, as A.J. said, "There have been times …."

"Maybe …." Trish began, trailing off when Frank entered the room, her expression becoming a little brighter. A.J. watched as they embraced, wondering how someone who had been raised by two such loving and committed people could drift so easily from relationship to relationship.

"You promised you'd get some sleep," Frank admonished his wife, his gentle tone belying his words.

"I promised I'd try," Trish countered, wrapping her arms around his waist, resting her head on his shoulder. "I just couldn't make my eyes stay closed. I need some reassurance that Harm is okay. Anyway, don't think I didn't notice your own tossing and turning."

"We haven't heard anything further from the carrier," Frank suggested, ignoring her comment about his own lack of sleep, "so I think it's safe to assume that Harm is holding his own." He glanced at A.J. for confirmation, the other man nodding. "Tomorrow morning he'll be transported to shore and we'll be able to see for ourselves."

"I know that here," she said, tapping her temple with her finger, "but it's a little harder telling my heart that."

"I have a suggestion," A.J. said, startling Trish slightly. She'd almost forgotten he was there. "I'm expecting a call from the ship later today – before we left JAG, I called Captain Ingles back and gave him the number here. The doctor said Harm was on oxygen, so I don't know if they're letting him do any talking right now, but maybe when the captain calls, we can arrange for you to speak to Harm for a few minutes."

"Thank you, Admiral," Trish said gratefully.

"A.J., please," he insisted.

"Okay, A.J.," she said. "I'll try to remember that. I still remember being an Ensign's wife forty years ago and saying 'Sir' and 'Ma'am' or calling by rank everyone above us. Old habits are hard to break."

After a moment's silence, A.J. changed the subject. "Is anyone hungry?" he asked. "I know you haven't eaten since you got here. I could fix something."

"We had something on the plane," Trish replied.

"Well, I did," Frank contradicted her. "You just pushed your food around on your plate."

Trish laughed half-heartedly as she kissed her husband's cheek. "As you can see, my son isn't the only one who worries," she teased, although it sounded a bit forced. "Thank you, A.J.. Something to eat would be wonderful. Can I help?"

"No, that's okay," A.J. said, rising from the couch. "My ex-wife taught me how to get around in the kitchen. Just relax – watch some TV if you'd like."

After A.J. left the room, Frank led Trish towards the couch and pulled her down next to him. She set her mug on the coffee table in front of them. "How are you really, Trish?" he asked, clasping her hands in his.

"I'll be fine, darling," she insisted firmly. She then sighed as Frank shot her a look which clearly said he wasn't convinced. "I'm just tired of getting phone calls or having men in uniforms show up at my front door. When does it end?"

"You know Harm," he said in what was supposed to be a reassuring tone, although he had the feeling it would be lost on his wife right now. "He's not happy unless he's right in the middle of the action. He would not be content just sitting behind a desk."

"I was hoping when he became a lawyer …." she mused, her voice trailing off. When she continued, her voice had a hard edge to it. "But since then, he landed a crippled jet on a carrier at night when he was still having vision problems, he was accused of murdering a member of the Russian mafia in his search for information on Harmon, he was reported dead during his first trip to Russia, there was that situation at the Sudanese embassy that was all over the news, he nearly drowned aboard a destroyer, if his brother had not shown up in a POW camp he would have thrown away his career to run off to a war zone and now this. And that's not even counting the situations he's been in while he was an active pilot – the Gulf of Sidra, his first crash, flying over Kosovo. And those are only the situations I know about. Knowing Harm, there are probably others I've heard nothing about. When does it stop?"

"Trish …." Frank began in a placating tone, massaging her fingers, but she shook her head.

"I know what you're going to say, Frank," she said, a barely detectible tremor creeping into her voice. "Harm is an adult and has the right to live his life the way he wants …. " She broke off, struggling to control her voice. When she spoke again, her voice was so soft that Frank barely heard her. "I love my son, but there is a part of me that hates the way he lives his life."

"I know," he replied, releasing one of her hands and wrapping his arm around her, pulling her closer. There were times he hated it, too – hated how it tore his wife up inside every time Harm got into yet another dangerous situation, hated how they hesitated each time the phone rang then sighed with relief when it wasn't bad news about Harm, hated how they wondered if someday that dreaded call would come. A few years ago, Trish had asked him how he could be so calm while they were waiting for word from Russia on Harm and Mac's fates. When he'd thought about it later, the best he could figure was that he had tried so hard to be supportive of Harm in order to strengthen their relationship that he conditioned himself to bury deep any negative feelings about some of the situations Harm found himself in. "I guess the only thing we can do is have faith that he'll be okay. Our son's probably the strongest man I've ever known."

She managed a smile at the phrase 'our son'. She never forgot how lucky she was to find a man who would let not only her, but her son, into his life, even if his presence hadn't entirely been a welcome one by Harm. Things had been better in the last few years since the first trip to Russia, but she still hoped that someday Harm would be able to admit, to himself if not to Frank, how lucky he had been to have Frank as a part of his life. "I know that," she said. "That strength is what helped his father survive for over ten years in a Soviet prison camp. I just wonder …. do you think sometimes that Harm's so busy being strong that he's cut himself off a bit from the rest of the world?"

"What makes you say that?" he asked, surprised at what seemed to be a sudden change of subject.

"Sometimes I wonder …." she sighed heavily, trying to find words to give voice to stray thoughts she was trying to string together coherently. "Does anyone really know or understand what he's thinking or feeling? When I first met Renee when I stopped in Washington to wish Harm a 'Happy Birthday', I couldn't help wondering what they have in common, if she really knows what makes him tick. I mean, she's a nice enough woman …. Of course, I wonder sometimes if he lets anyone close enough to really know him."

"I haven't really talked to her enough to say," Frank said, silently admitting there was something about Renee that struck him wrong. He didn't doubt that she was very worried about Harm and maybe she did love him in her way, whatever that way was. But she'd seemed so …. clingy, for lack of a better word, when he, Trish and Sarah had first shown up. He had the impression of someone trying to stake their claim, especially after her somewhat snide remarks about Mac being nowhere to be found. He couldn't imagine Harm choosing to spend his life with someone like that. What he thought Harm needed was someone who understood all his demons and still stood by him, guiding him through the rough spots, but who also gave him the freedom of space when he needed it. If he was right, and he was pretty sure he was based on what he had seen and heard over the years, there had only been two women like that in Harm's life. The first had died five years ago this month and the second had for some inexplicable reason come within hours of marrying another man.

"Do you think it bothered him," she wondered, almost to himself, "watching the one woman who seems to understand him so well prepare to go down the aisle with someone else?"

Frank reflected that it was a good thing he wasn't drinking coffee himself or he might have choked on it. "What makes you say that?" he asked, swallowing hard.

"The way he's barely talked about Mac the last few years," she explained, "the way he never even mentioned she was getting married, um, even the way Mac has been nowhere around. If Harm were simply her best friend, why isn't she here, letting her fiancé comfort her as they wait for word? I'd say this qualifies as 'for better or for worse'. I'd almost think she's suddenly realized that the man she loves isn't the one she's going to marry, but the one who almost died last night."

"You got that just from Mac's not being here and Harm's recent lack of talking about her?" he asked, surprised. From his conversations with Chloe and Bud, he knew that Trish was very close to the truth. However, not knowing the entire story and knowing that Mic and Renee were still in the dark as well, he felt uncomfortable talking about it, even with his wife.

"Call it mother's intuition," she said, picking up her mug from the coffee table, wincing as she sipped the now cold liquid. She set the mug back down and turned slightly to face Frank head on. "Or call it the only explanation that seems to fit all the facts. But I can't help but wonder how much it may have tormented my son that he was flying back to Washington to watch a woman he obviously cares a great deal for marry another man."

"We don't know that, Trish," he said, wondering if maybe he shouldn't just tell her what little he knew. Not that he didn't trust her with the truth, but he sensed that this situation was volatile and the slightest spark could result in a conflagration. "Anyway, have you ever known anything, short of his previous medical condition, to affect the way Harm flies? Trish, when he's up in the air, that's the only thing that matters to him. Everything else is unimportant."

-----

HARM'S APARTMENT

Renee leaned back against the door she'd just closed behind her, holding back tears as she looked over the dim apartment. It was so quiet, almost eerily so. There was usually some kind of noise, whether it was the radio playing softly in the background or the soft rustle of papers as Harm read over a case file. Even if she woke up in the middle of the night, she would be comforted by the soft reassuring sound of Harm's breathing as he lay next to her. It was normally so ….

She shook her head, trying to dispel the depressing thought. Thinking like that was almost like thinking that it would stay that way, thinking that Harm wouldn't be coming home. He was coming home, she reminded herself – the Admiral had said so. Tomorrow, Harm would be transferred to Portsmouth then he should be back home by the middle of next week. Everything would be fine. She just had to keep telling herself that.

Her eyes fell on the plain brown paper back she was clutching to her chest. She'd taken the stuff Bud had packed for him last night and kept it with her, telling Bud and Harriet that she would take it with her to Portsmouth in the morning. Looking through the bag after she'd been dropped off at her place, she realized that Bud had forgotten to pack some things and had called a cab to take her to Harm's place. Also, she needed to pick up her car, which she'd left outside his building last night when she'd run into Bud and Harriet. Of course, neither of those were her real reason for being here ….

She was alone. She'd thought, as they were all getting ready to leave JAG, that she would stay with Harm's family wherever they were going to be, just so that she could be closer to him in some way. As everyone was saying their goodbyes, Harriet had casually asked where the Burnetts and Harm's grandmother would be staying. When Trish had mentioned the Admiral's house, Renee had been about to ask if anyone minded if she accompanied them when Sarah Rabb had looked her over and suggested that Renee needed to go home and get some sleep.

It had been said kindly, Renee couldn't doubt that, and the older woman's tone had sounded the proper note of concern, but she nonetheless felt as if she'd been dismissed. Harm's family was closing ranks and no outsiders were welcome. She might have been Harm's girlfriend for going on a year and a half, but she wasn't family any more than she was a welcome part of the JAG 'family'.

In a dark corner of her mind, she wondered if their reaction would have been similar if it had been Mac standing in front of them, worn and weary from a sleepless night worrying about the man she lo- …. Renee shook her head, trying to banish the thought. Mac was in love with Mic, she told herself, her inner voice not as firm as she would have liked. Once this was all over and Harm was home safe and sound, Mic would reschedule the wedding and there would no longer be that specter standing in the way of what Renee wanted.

Squaring her shoulders, trying to project an air of determination, even if there was no one to witness it, she went up the stairs to the sleeping area, setting the bag on the bed, pulling out the contents and spreading them out so she could see exactly what was there and what was needed. Looking over the sparse contents of the bag, she wondered how someone who traveled as much as Bud did could be so woefully inadequate when it came to packing. He'd packed a uniform, underwear and socks, but no casual clothes like sweats that Harm could wear in the hospital and no toiletries of any kind. _He could probably also use some books to keep him occupied while he was laid up_, she thought. _God only knows how long that will be_.

Mentally making a list of what she thought Harm would need, Renee started by searching his closet for his other travel bag. After a few fruitless minutes of searching, she decided that maybe Bud had been right when he suggested the other bag was sitting in the back of the SUV, having been left there after a previous trip. Shrugging it off, trying not to think about any reason why it wouldn't be there despite the nagging voice in the back of her mind, she decided to just put everything back in the paper bag and stick everything in one of her suitcases before she headed for Portsmouth in the morning.

Opening one of his drawers, she pulled out a worn, comfortable pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt with 'US Navy' stenciled across the front. She set the clothes on the bed and stared at them for a long moment before pulling off her sweater and picking up the sweatshirt and putting it on. It was hardly the kind of thing she would wear normally and it was way too large for her, falling to mid-thigh, but it was his and somehow wearing it made her feel a little closer to him. Closing her eyes, she could even imagine that the scent of his aftershave, the warmth of his skin as she would pull the favored sweatshirt off him, the feel of the firm muscles beneath her fingertips.

A smile on her face, she sat on the edge of the bed, wrapping her arms around herself, imagining that it was his arms holding her tight. With a sad sigh, she opened her eyes as her smile fell. He wasn't here right now. "Why, Harm?" she whispered to the empty room. "Was it worth risking your life just to get back in time to watch her marry?"

There was no answer of course from the silent room and she dropped onto the bed, laying her head on one of his pillows, squeezing her eyes shut against the threatening tears, drawing her knees up to her chest as if by curling up in a ball she could close off the pain. But no matter how much she tried, how could she stop thinking about the fact that he apparently found it so easy to risk his life just to keep a promise to another woman. Would he do the same for her? Could he? Or was she fighting a losing battle for a heart that only had room for one woman, no matter how unattainable she might be to him. He hadn't exactly offered a denial when confronted about it ….

Drawing in a shuttering breath, she opened her eyes, determined to forget about everything except the fact that Harm would be coming home to her. She would get up and pack Harm's things and go to Portsmouth in the morning and he would get better and all would go on as before.

_You make that sound like a good thing_, the little voice in her head countered.

"Not just a good thing," she whispered to the empty room, her voice sounding uncertain to her ears. "It will be better. There will be nothing to come between …."

She pushed herself back up into a sitting position, blinking back tears as she focused on the nightstand beside the bed. "What the hell?" she murmured, running her hand over the bare spot where the picture of Harm and his brother had resided since his return from Russia. Twisting her head around, she didn't see it on the other nightstand and it wasn't with the things that Bud had packed for Harm.

Puzzled, although she couldn't quite pinpoint exactly why, she got up from the bed and began to search the apartment. It could be something completely innocent. Harm could have moved the picture for some reason. She couldn't say why it was so important, just that it was. She had to find that picture. She wracked her brain, trying to remember if the photo had been in its proper place Wednesday afternoon, but she couldn't remember for the life of her. She'd been too wrapped up in her disappointment at his departure that afternoon to really pay attention to the minute details of his décor.

She was in for another shock when she reached the living room and was confronted with the empty space on top of the bookcase where the picture of Harm and his father usually sat. Now that picture she was positive he would not have moved. _Think_, she ordered herself. Where could they have gone? She was nearly positive that the photos had been in their proper places when Harm left on Wednesday – or rather, she doubted that he would have taken them with him - and she knew Bud had not taken them.

"No …." she said, shaking her head, as she tried to dispel the horrifying thought that had just occurred to her. But she couldn't. It was like a tentacle, wrapping itself around her mind and refusing to let go. "No!"

_Calm down,_ she ordered herself. _You've got two missing pictures and you immediately think …. what? Come on, would Mac really show up and steal two of Harm's favorite photos? Why? Let's think about this rationally._

She nervously paced by the door, trying to make herself think of a possible explanation, any other reason why the photos were missing. There had to be something ….

Realizing that she was driving herself crazy, she went into the bathroom, intending to splash some cold water on her face. She needed to calm down. Harm would need her to be strong for him, to take care of him. Turning on the faucet, she held a finger under the water stream, waiting for the water to warm up to a tolerable temperature as she studied her face in the mirror. _God, I look about ten years older_, she thought. _Maybe just a little bit of concealer to cover the dark circles under my eyes._

Cupping her hands under the water, she splashed the tepid water on her face, then turned off the faucet, shaking her hands out over the sink. Grabbing a towel off the bar, she gently patted her face dry, then wiped her hands. Feeling a little better, she opened the medicine cabinet and reached for her makeup, her hand stopping in mid-air as she got a look inside.

Harm kept a shaving bag packed full of travel sizes of most essentials – shampoo, shaving cream, toothpaste, and mouthwash – that he just threw in his duffle when he was packing for trips. That way he knew he'd never have to worry about making a late night run to the store for something when he was trying to get ready for bed.

However, most of his regular toiletries that he kept at home were missing. There was a noticeable space on the shelf where his shaving cream usually was. Growing increasingly frantic, she did a quick inventory of the bathroom and discovered several other things missing. Ending her search in the shower, where Harm's bottle of shampoo was no longer next to hers on the shelf in the corner, she bit back a screech of frustration. At the end of her rope, she curled her fingers around her conditioner and hurled the bottle against the wall, barely noticing when the top broke off the bottle at the neck and conditioner splattered all over the glass blocks enclosing the shower.

Shaking with anger, she ran for the phone, her fingers trembling as she tried to remember the phone number she wanted. At one point, she threw the phone down in disgust as she punched in the wrong number for the fifth digit. She didn't even both trying to tell herself to calm down. She was furious and intended to stay that way. Grabbing the phone again, she managed on the second try to dial the correct number, tapping her foot impatiently as she waited for the line to be picked up on the other end.

The phone was answered in the middle of the second ring. "Sarah, is that you?" Mic answered his cell phone, hoping against hope that Mac was finally getting in touch with him. "Where …."

"I'm not Mac," Renee retorted angrily. On top of everything else, the last thing she needed was Mic calling her by that woman's name. In her current state of mind, it hurt nearly as much as it had when Harm had done it several months earlier. "But she's been here."

"Renee?" he asked, hopeful. "You've seen Sarah?" All thoughts of the credit card receipt and its possible implications were driven from his mind. If he could see her, talk to her, she would have some explanation. He was sure of it.

"No, but she's been to Harm's," she replied impatiently. "There's stuff missing."

"I don't understand," Mic confessed, his voice calm. Whatever it was Renee was going on about, it had her mad as hell, he realized. "What do you mean there's stuff missing?"

"There's stuff missing," she repeated, frustrated that he didn't seem to understand the implications of what she was saying. "Look, just get over here. We need to figure out what we're going to do."

"Okay, Renee," he agreed, trying to push aside the growing fear in his mind, the building sensation that everything he wanted was slipping away from him and he couldn't hold on. "Are you at Rabb's?"

"Yes," she said, drawing in a shaky breath. "I came here because I needed to be close …."

"Renee, I need directions," he cut her off, not wanting to hear her go on about Harm. "I've never been there before."

Quickly she shot out directions, while Mic thanked his lucky stars that he had a good memory and that Harm's place was relatively easy to get to. He didn't think Renee would appreciate it if he asked her to repeat herself so he could right everything down. "Mic, I …. " she trailed off, choking on the fear forming a lump in her throat. Her voice was so soft when she spoke again that he had to strain to hear her. "Please just get over here."

Mic was already halfway out the door when the call was disconnected, nearly forgetting to lock Mac's apartment door behind him. He tried to tell himself that Renee was understandably emotional – the man she loved had nearly died – but he couldn't make himself truly believe that she was simply overreacting. There were just too many odd occurrences which didn't seem to add up in any way but one which was bad for him, and for Renee.

-----

Renee was sitting on the floor, staring blankly at the wall, open photo albums on the floor surrounding her, when Mic pounded on the door, the sound reverberating in the dim apartment. "It's open," she called out in a dull voice, not even looking in his direction when Mic opened the door and stepped into the apartment.

If Mic had allowed the calm, rational part of his mind to convince him that Renee was overreaching on this, those thoughts fled when he got his first glimpse of her. She looked completely devastated and seemed unaware of her surroundings. "It's a bit dark in here, don't you think?" he commented, flipping on the light switch by the door.

Renee blinked, startled by the sudden brightness. The only light in the apartment had been what little had been coming in through the windows, which faced the wrong direction to get direct sunlight in the mid-afternoon, even if there still hadn't been clouds from the previous night's storm partly blocking the sun from view. "Is it?" she murmured. "I hadn't noticed."

Mic lowered himself to the floor beside her, turning around one of the albums to study the picture on the page the album was open to. Harm, leaning on a cane, was standing in front of what looked like a barn, his arm slung over Mac's shoulder, her arm around his waist as her head rested against his shoulder. He wondered at the age of the picture. Both of them looked several years younger than they were now. Mac's hair was even darker and had a bit of curl to it. They seemed so relaxed and at ease with each other, much like they had before Harm had left JAG. He pulled the picture from the album and found a date stamp on the back from when it had been developed – May 1991. 10 years ago. He'd never asked, had never really wanted to know, but he hadn't had a clue that they went back that far.

"There's a bunch more of the two of them," she commented, her voice oddly firm, as if she was doing everything in her power to control it. "They seem to go back years. Mic, what are we fighting against here?"

He wasn't quite ready to concede that point yet. "What makes you think we're fighting against anything here?" he countered. He flipped to another picture, this one of an even younger Harm and Mac with Harm's grandmother, without a date on the back. "If they couldn't make anything work in all this time, and we don't know that they even tried, why now?"

"Ever seen 'When Harry Met Sally'?" she asked, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. Mic looked confused at the apparent change of topic and shook his head.

"It's a movie," she explained. "Harry and Sally met during college and over the years they became best friends. At one point, they slept together and it nearly drove them apart, but they finally figured out that they loved each other and got married." Her voice suddenly got quiet as she added, "It took them twelve years."

Mic shook his head, but otherwise didn't react, although under other circumstances he might have been amused and less than surprised that Renee would draw comparisons to a movie. "This isn't a movie, Renee," he pointed out gently. "I have Sarah and you …."

"Have Harm?" she finished with a bitter laugh. "Yeah, I've got him, alright. When he was leaving for Norfolk the other day, you know what he told me when I was concerned about him getting back in time for the wedding? That he'd promised her that he would be back!"

Mic took in a long, slow breath, willing himself to remain calm, even as he wondered if he should mention the receipt he'd found. Suddenly, he remembered Renee's frantic phone call and asked, "You said earlier that Sarah had been here."

She lifted her head from here it had been resting against her knees and he was mildly surprised when he got a good look at her face. He'd half-expected tears – although he wasn't sure if they would be more for Harm's current condition or her fear that she was losing him. There was a flash of anger in her eyes – certainly understandable given her previous statement. But they were also filled with a steely determination. He recognized in her a kindred spirit, unwilling to back down from a fight for what she wanted.

"There are some things missing," she said, the same resolve evident in her voice. She motioned towards the bookcase by the door. "Up there is where Harm's favorite picture of him and his father usually resides. And on the nightstand in the bedroom normally is one of him and his brother. And one of his travel bags is missing, along with some things from the bathroom."

"And how do you know Sarah was here?" he asked, reaching for any other explanation, even as he recognized the ring of truth in what she was saying.

"Last night, I showed up here and ran into Bud and Harriet …." she began to explain, her expression changing into an odd mixture of surprise, disappointment and just a hint of anger as she realized something. "They had to have known …."

"Who knew what?" he asked.

"Bud and Harriet," she replied. "They knew something was up. They talked me into staying down in the car with Harriet and baby AJ while Bud came up here supposedly to get some things with Harm." She got up and heading to the bedroom, Mic hesitating only a moment before following her. He followed her gaze to the items still laid out on the bed. "Bud came back down with a paper bag with some of Harm's stuff. I pointed out that Harm had two travel bags and had only taken one with him this trip. He – or was it Harriet – came up with some inane excuse about maybe Harm had left the other bag in the back of his car after a previous trip. But the more I think about it, the less sense it makes. Why wouldn't he take it out of his car? And look at this stuff. As much as Bud travels, you would think he would know how to pack. And why would Bud and Harriet have come by here in the first place? I came because I wanted to feel close to Harm. They said they'd thought to pick up some stuff for Harm when he is transferred to the hospital, but that doesn't make a lot of sense. That sure wasn't my first thought when I showed up here last night. I just came back here to pack some more things now because I needed something to do."

Mic had to concede that point to himself. But he wasn't about to admit that aloud. Instead, he tried to counter her arguments. "Bud and Harriet are your friends," he said. "Do you really think they'd lie to you?"

"Not intentionally, but you said it yourself," she replied. "We're outsiders here. We're tolerated only because of our relationships with Harm and Mac. But if it came to protecting Harm and/or Mac, you can bet neither of them would think twice."

"Bud is my best man," Mic pointed out, his tone uncertain.

She snorted. "With all due respect, Mic," she said, "who else would you have asked? The Admiral is giving Mac away. Harm …. well, he'd probably rather walk over hot coals before he'd even cross the street for you."

Mic almost smiled at the visual that created in his mind before he remembered to whom he was talking. "But how do you know it was Sarah?" he asked.

"Who else would it be?" she countered. She suddenly turned and headed for the door. Mic thought about following her as she stepped out, but she was back before he made up his mind, holding up a key. "Harm keeps a spare key in a rather obvious place out in the hall. I'm sure she would know where it was." Mic froze as she came closer, his shock written all over his place. "Mic? What is it?"

"She wouldn't have needed a spare key to get in," he said quietly, sinking down onto the edge of the bed with a weary sigh. "Not long I came back to the States, she was going to, well, I guess the where isn't important. I was staying at her place to look after Jingo while she was gone. She was showing me some of the keys on her ring and what they go to. She had a key that looks exactly like that one on the ring. I only remember because she seemed to hesitate before telling me the key wasn't to anything important that I needed to worry about."

"She has a key …." she murmured. "I wouldn't be surprised to find out he also has one to her place." Mic started to reach into his pants pocket to show Renee what the key to Mac's apartment looked like when she waved him off. "Don't bother. I don't think I want to know. Correction. I'm sure that if you show me Mac's key that I'll recognize it as one that Harm as. But see no evil, right?"

"So now what?" he asked, a hint of dejection creeping into his voice. "You call me over here to tell me my fiancée has apparently been here and now you want to bury your head in the sand?"

"No," she began uncertainly, before stomping her foot on the hardwood floor. "No! I'm not burying my head in the sand. I'm just determined to believe that Harm is too damn honorable to pursue a married woman, or one who is almost married anyway."

This time, Mic was the one who snorted. "And what if your faith in his sense of honor is misplaced?" he asked derisively, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. Slowly, his motions deliberate, he pulled out the receipt he'd stashed in there before leaving Mac's apartment and held it out to Renee.

She took it and unfolded the yellow slip, scanning it with an obvious air of indifference. "What is this supposed to be?" she demanded. "It's a credit card receipt. So what?"

"It's for the Breezy Point Officers' Club in Norfolk," he informed her, instantly regretting his harsh tone at the dawning look of horror that crossed her features as she began to put two and two together. In for a penny, he thought, softening his tone as if it might soften the blow. "It is for a breakfast for two. The slip is dated Thursday morning. This past Thursday. Two days ago. I found it on Sarah's desk at home. I went there hoping that she was just hiding out there rather than being God only knows where."

It was a long moment before Renee could make herself speak and when she did, her voice had a noticeable tremor. "So are you trying to tell me that your fiancée and my boyfriend are having an affair?" she asked, immediately jumping to the most obvious conclusion. _I will not cry_, she told herself, repeating it over and over in her head like a mantra. _I will not cry._

"I'm telling you that it appears my fiancée and your boyfriend had breakfast together two mornings ago," he said, trying to inject an air of certainty into his voice that he sure as hell did not feel. There were just too many odd little events which seemed to make no sense unless one considered the possibility ….

"And you know this was simply a Thursday morning thing because you spent Wednesday night with your fiancée?" she retorted. It was fleeting and under other circumstances, she might have thought she didn't really see the pained look that flashed in his eyes before the mask fell over his features. But she latched onto it immediately as he stonily returned her heated gaze. "You didn't. You don't know where she was Wednesday night, do you?"

Reluctantly, Mic nodded as he explained, "I tried calling several times. But her sister arrived in town that day and I just assumed when I couldn't reach her that they were spending time together …. " His voice trailed off as he remembered something else and he clenched his hands into fists to keep them from shaking. "She wasn't wearing the ring. I went to pick up her Thursday afternoon for a late lunch. Chloe was there and Sarah wasn't wearing her ring. She said she'd taken it off while taking a bath and just hadn't put it back on. But she didn't look like she'd just gotten out of a bath."

Renee sat down next to him on the bed, unknowingly crumpling the receipt in her fist. She wanted to scream and cry and lash out at something, but wasn't sure which to do first. Or if she should do any of them. "Do you really think …." she began, unable to make herself utter the thought aloud, although she couldn't stop the image that formed in her mind. She squeezed her eyes shut, but could see so clearly in her mind the two of them, wrapped up in each other. _Damn her, he's my boyfriend,_ she thought darkly, a small part of her wishing that Mac were standing in front of her right. She'd be nowhere near as calm as Mic seemed to be trying to be. _She's got her own man. Why does she have to go after mine? Why can't he just accept that she belongs to Mic and stay away from her?_

"I bloody well don't know," he whispered, staring down at the floor. "I just wish Sarah was here. If I could ask her …."

"I asked Harm once," she told him, "if he was in love with Mac. He'd …." She trailed off, remembering the pain she'd worked so hard to hide when Harm had called her 'Mac'. She took a deep breath and continued in a soft voice, "I was joining him, um, in bed after I'd gotten out of the shower once and he called me …. by her name. He bought me all those roses to apologize, but I couldn't just brush it off as easily as he seemed to. I asked him if he loved her and do you know how he responded?"

"I suppose it's too much to hope for that he came back with a firm denial," Mic said dryly, already knowing how she would reply.

"He said they fought all the time," she confirmed. "He wouldn't even look me in the eye when he said it. If he had, then I might have known …. I said that I was counting the days until you two got married." She flopped back onto the bed, crossing her arms over her chest as she stared up at the ceiling. "Does that sound pathetic?"

"Probably no more so than my wishing that Rabb wouldn't get back in time for the wedding," he admitted, "or hoping that once I have that wedding ring on Sarah's finger that it will be like a switch will be thrown and she'll just forget about any feelings she might have had for Rabb. I don't think it's pathetic at all to know what you want and to go after it."

She rolled onto her side, propping herself up on an elbow, meeting his gaze. "But at what cost?" she wondered aloud. "What if they don't want the same things?" She studied him for a long moment, recognizing the flicker of pain in his eyes that he was trying so hard to hide as a mirror of her own. "Mic …. look, don't take this the wrong way, but how sure are you of Mac's feelings for you? It did take her how long – ten months? – to move the ring over."

Mic just looked at her, unable to open his mouth to speak. When she'd finally moved the ring, he'd been so thrilled that he'd tried not to think about the reasons why or why it had happened when it had. If there was any connection between Harm's talk about resigning his commission to head for Chechnya and Mac's sudden decision, he'd refused to let himself think about it. She'd agreed to marry him and that was the only thing that mattered, he kept telling himself.

"That's what I thought," Renee said in resignation, dropping back onto her back.

"I thought you weren't giving up," he pointed out.

"I don't want to," she admitted. "I'm just not sure how to go about it."

"I marry Sarah," he said, trying to inject firmness in his tone that he definitely didn't feel, but they both needed the bolstering right now. "Then you and Rabb …. " He stopped himself, positive that Renee didn't want to hear him say that maybe once Mac was out of his reach that he would make himself settle for what Renee was so willing to give him. Anyway, it wasn't fair to Renee, who had turned into a good friend the last few months. "Well, I don't know there, but you're a smart, determined woman."

"Why can't Harm be more like you?" she mused, then managed a laugh, realizing how that might come across.

Mic laughed with her. "I don't know whether to be insulted or complimented," he said in a half-teasing tone, the best he could manage at the moment.

"No one ever has to wonder what you're thinking," she clarified. "You're so open about what you think and feel. Sometimes I wonder if Harm even knows what he feels sometimes."

He could relate. He'd sometimes, in his more worrisome moments during the interminable wait for Mac to move the ring to the proper hand, wondered the same thing about Mac. A nagging voice in the back of his mind, which he'd done his best to ignore, liked to point out that if she loved him as much as he did her, the ring would have been on her proper hand from the moment he'd first slipped it on her finger. Hear no evil.

For a long moment, they were both lost in their own thoughts, trying not to think too hard about how everything seemed to be falling apart around them while hoping, almost with desperation, that once Harm was back on dry land and on the road to recovery that everything would return to the status quo.

Renee was the first to break the silence. "So now what?" she asked, the question as much for herself as for him.

For a moment, the mask fell away completely and Mic let his anguish show clearly on his face. Then it was back and he almost seemed to be the same confident man he normally was. "I wish I knew," he admitted. "Bloody hell, I wish I did."

-----

THAT EVENING

SICKBAY

USS PATRICK HENRY

Harm started to prop himself up on his elbow, wanting to gaze down on his sleeping wife, but thought better of it when the room started to tilt around him, brightly colored spots appearing before his eyes, and he sank back onto the pillow with a sigh. Whoever heard of getting dizzy when you were still lying down? He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to regain some sense of equilibrium, but the spots were still there and he felt his head throbbing even more. After a moment, he cautiously opened his eyes to find that Mac had awoken and was watching him with concern. The room didn't seem to be moving around so much, but that annoying throbbing was still there. "You okay?" she asked, stroking his temple with her fingers.

Grinning, he slowly leaned closer, careful of his aching head, lightly touching his lips to hers. When he pulled away, she was giving him a look of mild amusement. Not a bad diversionary tactic, but a diversion just the same. "Okay, I tried," he said in a hoarse whisper, apparently reading her mind. "I'm fine. I just tried to get up a little too fast. That's what I get for lazing around in bed all day."

"Poor baby," she teased. He captured the hand at his temple and brought it to his lips, bringing a pink tinge to her cheeks. "Maybe after dinner we can ask Doctor Reed if we can get you up and walking around a little bit. After all, I'm curious to see if your hospital gown opens in the back."

Harm tried to laugh, but what came from his mouth sounded more like a frog croaking, so he gave up. "I didn't realize I'd married a voyeur," he shot back. "Wait a minute, I do recall a few days before Bud and Harriet's wedding …."

Mac laughed as she remembered the incident he was referring to, when she and Carolyn had been checking out the 'evidence' to determine whether it was him in the newspaper photo. "And I'm sure the great Harmon Rabb has never had a problem with women checking him out," she countered.

He ignored the crack – women looking at him were simply a fact of life and not really one he dwelt on – and marveled, "Is it supposed to be like this? Marriage, I mean."

"I don't know," she replied, sharper than she intended to. Her expression softened at the hurt expression which briefly crossed his features. "I'm sorry. Just some not so pleasant memories coming to the forefront. In a way, this is all new to me as well. It's nice being married to someone that I actually like."

If that was all she was looking for, she could have gone ahead and married Brumby, he realized. For some reason, she seemed to like him well enough. But there had to be more to this than just that, so he chose to turn it into a joke. "I hope you married me for more than just liking me," he said, a look of mock hurt on his face.

She laughed as she kissed his furrowed brow. "It feels good, like we've got our old relationship back," she said wistfully. "I can't remember the last time we were able to tease each other like this." She gave him a brilliant smile as she linked her fingers with his. "I think marrying you may have been one of the best things I've ever done."

"One of the best?" he teased, quirking an eyebrow at her, ignoring the sharp stab of pain at that simple motion.

"You …." she began, stopping as her stomach growled, loudly enough that Harm heard.

Suddenly, he dropped the teasing tone and asked her seriously, "When was the last time you ate anything?" He was worried, knew that she'd probably been half out of her mind over the last day because of him. And how much sleep had she gotten? He'd been so in and out of it all day that she could have laid there pretending to sleep and he probably wouldn't have realized it.

"I don't know," she answered vaguely, unable to meet his concerned gaze. "I guess last night at the rehearsal dinner."

He started to lift his arm, as if to look at his watch, before he remembered that he wasn't wearing it. He vaguely remembered one of the corpsmen removing his watch and Academy ring and setting them aside somewhere after his flight suit had been cut off of him. "It must be close to dinner time," he pointed out, although he was fuzzy on exactly how long he'd been lying in sickbay. Most of today seemed a blur, although there were moments that stood out in his mind. Like the moment they'd been pronounced man and wife. Or the beautiful light in her eyes as she'd stepped through the hatch into sickbay for their wedding. Or hearing her say 'I love you' to him for the first time. "Why don't you go to the officer's mess and get something to eat?"

"I could stick around and share whatever you get for dinner," she suggested with a hint of seduction in her voice. Lazily, she traced the muscles of his shoulder with her fingers and even through cotton of his hospital gown, he felt a warm flush and tingling from her gently touch.

Harm had a brief flash of the two of them feeding each other in bed, licking and nibbling food off each other's bodies. Maybe later. It was something else to remember for the honeymoon. "I doubt you'd want what I'll be getting," he said. "I didn't get lunch except through this …." he motioned to the IV in his right forearm " …. because they were worried with all the water I swallowed that I wouldn't be able to keep anything down. Tonight, I get to try broth and Jell-O."

Their expressions were mirrors of each other as they both wrinkled their noses at the thought. "Anything the mess could come up with would be better than that," she said, "although not by much." She slipped out from under the covers and crossed the room for her bag, grabbing her spare uniform. Harm watched her with an appreciative gleam in his eye. She made even his boxers and an old t-shirt of his look sexy. Too bad he couldn't …. Experiencing another flash of pain, he closed his eyes, but even in the darkness of his mind, everything seemed to be spinning wildly out of control.

She quickly stripped, conscious of the fact that a member of the sickbay staff could walk in at any time. Regardless, she was a bit disappointed when he closed his eyes, his head rolling to the side, as she was pulling on her pants, although she rationalized his behavior by reminding herself that he was probably still exhausted, even if was pretty good at pretending otherwise. _Typical Harm_, she thought. Shrugging, she pulled on her blouse and buttoned it from the bottom up, hoping he would open his eyes again to catch a glimpse of her lace-covered breasts. So what if she wanted to show off? He was her husband and she'd been dying for him to notice her as a woman for nearly five years. Not to mention the fact that a darkened VOQ room had not given much opportunity for looking. They could have turned on the lights then, she supposed, but it had seemed better in the dark. But now they could come out in the light, even if it was only for a day until they got back to shore. Here, their relationship was sanctioned. She almost laughed at the thought.

"Harm?" she asked as she finished fastening her blouse. Assuming that he'd simply fallen asleep on her, she crossed the room, dropping a goodbye kiss on his temple. "What the ….?" she murmured. Under the hand which was resting on his arm, his muscles were tense, rigid. "You're not having a bad dream, are …?" She jerked back as his arm spasmed under her touch.

"What?" she wondered, looking him up and down. Suddenly, his entire body jerked and an alarm went off on one of the monitors. "Oh, God," she gasped, momentarily startled. Almost as a reflex, the Marine took over. Although surely someone had heard the alarm and was on the way, she shouted, "I need a corpsman in here …. NOW!"

Desperate, afraid he might hurt himself, she leaned over the bed and tried to hold him down by the shoulders as two corpsmen raced into the room, followed closely by Reed. "Colonel," Reed called out as he stopped at a table to snap on a pair of latex gloves, "don't try to hold …." His attempted warning came too late as Harm's left arm jerked violently, catching Mac in the midsection. Even weakened as he was, her 120 pounds was no match for his 200. The force of the blow knocked her away from the bed and into a metal cabinet behind her.

Reed nodded to one of the corpsmen, who moved to help Mac up off the floor, where she was on her hands and knees, fighting to catch her breath. The petty officer tilted Mac's head to the side, gently probing the bruise already forming on her cheek where the side of her face struck the cabinet as she fell. "You'll have a pretty nasty bruise, I think," she told Mac, "but the cheekbone feels intact. I can get an ice pack for you …."

"Doesn't matter," Mac muttered, rising to her feet as she shook out the hand and wrist she'd broken her fall with, shaking off the petty officer's helping hand. She rotated her wrist, satisfying herself and the other woman that it wasn't broken. "Just help my husband. Please." She took a step towards the bed, but forced herself to hold back. As much as she wanted to somehow comfort Harm by her presence, she knew that she'd only be in the way right now. _Just let them do their jobs_, she told herself. But it was so hard. She wanted to help him, as he'd helped her so many times in the past. Memories of their desperate flight in Appalachia swam through her mind as she tightly clasped her fingers together, her wedding and Marine Corps rings digging into her fingers, not that she noticed.

"Valium, five milligram IV push," Reed barked. Williams rushed over with a capped syringe and removing the cap, he swiftly injected the contents into Harm's IV. Reed glanced at one of the monitors and swore under his breath. Mac followed his gaze, trying to figure out what the readout meant. After a moment, she realized that the number flashing 'zero' in bright red was referring to his respiration. Turning accusing eyes towards the doctor, she opened her mouth to speak, but Reed interrupted before she could say anything, "A momentary lapse in breathing is not unusual during a seizure. It should restart on its own."

"Should?" she demanded, incredulous. "Isn't there more you can do?"

"We'll intubate as soon as the seizure is over," he explained gently. "We can't …." He stopped suddenly as Harm began vomiting, quickly rolling him onto his side so he didn't choke on it or inhale it when he started breathing again. "Williams, get some towels."

In a moment, the nurse returned with some towels and set them on the bed behind Harm. "Oh, my," he murmured, suddenly noticing an area of discoloration on the back of Harm's head. "Doctor, take a look at this." Reed leaned over as Williams brushed back Harm's hair. His fingers palpitated the bruise, feeling for depressions in the skull which might indicate fracture.

"Sweet Jesus," he breathed, his eyes meeting Williams'. He kept his voice low so as not to alarm Mac. "Get us set up for a CT-scan now. Then call the comm room and tell them to set up a satellite hookup with neurosurgery at Portsmouth." As Williams rushed off, Reed turned to one of the petty officers. "Johnston, get me an intubation tray, 7.5 tube, and a vent machine."

As the petty officer took off, Reed studied his patient for a moment and, satisfied that the valium seemed to be easing the spasms, he turned to Mac. "We'll insert a tube in his throat and hook him up to a ventilator," he informed her. "It will help him breathe by forcing air into his lungs if he has another episode."

"Will he?" she asked.

He steadily met her gaze as he replied, "I can't say for sure." But his eyes betrayed him. She could see that he was uncertain about whether Harm could survive another episode. The seizure apparently over, the display on the monitor changed as Harm began breathing again and the alarm silenced. Reed rolled him onto his back and reached for the intubation tray, swiftly inserted the tube in Harm's throat as Johnston listened through a stethoscope to Harm's breathing.

"Good sounds, Doc," Johnston reported, draping the scope around his neck.

"Good," Reed replied. "Let's get warm air pumping through the vent and get him cleaned up. Also, draw some blood and run a CBC just to rule out anything else besides a head injury as the cause of the seizure. I'll be in my office with the Colonel. Bradford, go tell Williams me know as soon as the CT machine is set up." He motioned to Mac to follow him.

She did so reluctantly, pausing to kiss Harm's sweat-drenched brow. "Hang on," she pleaded softly. "I can't do this without you."

Reed stripped off his soiled lab coat and tossed it in a hamper just outside his office, motioning Mac go on in. She stood looking out the window, watching as Johnston swabbed the inside of Harm's elbow with an alcohol pad and applied a tourniquet, poking around for a good vein to draw blood from. Reed came to stand behind her, watching the activity. "How long will he remain unconscious?" she asked.

"I can't say," he said honestly. "Many patients regain consciousness immediately after a seizure, although they may continue to drift in and out for a bit afterwards."

"But not always," she said.

"Colonel, your husband suffered a generalized tonic-clonic seizure," he said, "or what a lay person would call a grand-mal seizure. When we rolled him over as he started vomiting, Nurse Williams noticed some bruising on the back of his head."

She immediately realized the implication. "He suffered a head injury? Why wasn't this caught sooner?"

"It appears so," he replied. "We'll know more after the CT-scan and a consult with neurosurgery at Portsmouth. As for why no one noticed, there are some head injuries which do not present any symptoms for hours or even days after the event. Until now, we had no reason to suspect there was cause for concern. But I can't say for sure until we do the CT and see what we're dealing with."

"So what now?" It amazed her how calm and level her voice sounded, because she was sure that if she unclenched her hands, still clasped tightly in front of her, they would shake uncontrollably.

"We continue to monitor him for any signs of recurrence," he explained, "although hopefully the valium will help to prevent any future episodes or at least lessen their severity. I don't care to speculate further than that until we've had a chance to run some tests."

"What's the worst-case scenario?"

"Colonel …."

She turned around to face him, her bearing determined. "Worst case," she repeated firmly.

Sighing, he relented, "Worst case would be bleeding or a skull fracture requiring surgery. Regardless, I'm almost positive that we'll end up transporting him to Portsmouth tonight instead of waiting for morning. The seizure and the fact that he has yet to regain consciousness are pretty good indications of the severity of his injury. But I'm no neurologist. That's why comm is setting up a satellite link to Portsmouth. It will also give them a chance to know what they need to be prepared for when he arrives."

"I want to be in there," she insisted, turning back to face the window. A single tear slipped down her cheek as she watched Johnston wipe Harm's face clean. How had everything managed to go so wrong so quickly? He'd seemed fine – or as fine as one could be after an unplanned nine and a half hour swim in the Atlantic. Harm was one of the strongest people she knew. It was surreal to see him so weak, so helpless. "When you talk to the doctor from Portsmouth, I mean." From his reflection in the glass, she could tell he was about to protest. "I'm his wife. I insist on being included in any conversations about his condition and treatment. I will not let you sugar-coat or dissemble with me."

Reluctantly, he nodded. Although he could probably try to bar her, he sensed this was not a woman who would take no for an answer. Nor was she one for whom the truth needed to be softened. He could see it in her eyes even as he heard it in her tone and in her words. She knew what Harm was facing. She'd seen it.

There was a knock at the door and Reed called out, "Enter."

Williams poked his head in the door. "Sir, the CT scanner is ready," he reported, "and I ordered Johnston to start the contrast solution in the Commander's IV. We've got Captain David Stafford, chief of neurosurgery, on satellite from Portsmouth."

"When you put the Commander into the scanner, make sure and immobilize his head," he instructed, "just in case he has another seizure. Colonel?"

Mac followed him into another room with a panel with knobs and buttons which seemed incomprehensible to her and several monitors, one of which was showing a Navy Captain sitting behind a desk studying a chart. That one was the satellite hookup, she realized. Another monitor was turned off. A large window gave a view of the other room, where Harm was being transferred from the gurney to the gantry which would slide him into the scanner. One corpsman strapped him securely onto the gantry while the other hung his IV and made sure there were no kinks in the vent tubing.

"Captain Stafford?" Reed said, getting the other man's attention. Stafford set down the file he was studying and turned to face the video camera on his end head-on. "I'm Doctor Charles Reed, chief medical officer aboard the _Henry_. This is Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Mackenzie, the patient's wife. She's asked to be allowed to sit in on the consult."

If Stafford had a problem with that, he didn't let on. "Colonel," he said in greeting. "Doctor Reed, your nurse gave me an outline of Commander Rabb's situation. If you could fill in the blanks for me."

"37-year-old Caucasian male," he began, his voice taking on a lecture tone as he opened Harm's chart and gave a cursory glance at his notes, "ejected from an F-14 last night at approximately 0352 Zulu. He was pulled from the water at 1322 Zulu this morning by a Coast Guard helo and given basic first aid on the flight to the _Henry_. Body temp was 88.2. Preliminary exam showed no obvious signs of physical injury aside from a bruise and gash above his left eye and some bruising on the left side of his rib cage. X-rays negative for broken ribs. Patient was conscious and fairly alert, pupils equal and reactive, so the forehead injury was not judged to be a serious concern. By late afternoon, patient's temperature had risen above ninety-five degrees. There was no sign of underlying injuries until he suffered a generalized tonic-clonic, um …." He paused and glanced at his watch, "onset approximately twenty minutes ago. During the event, my nurse discovered a scalp hematoma at the back of the head when we rolled the Commander onto his side. As he came out of it, his temp read 99.0. Normally, that would be no cause for alarm, but given his recent hypothermic state, it's likely a sign of the elevated temperature which often accompanies cranial injuries. Exploration did not reveal signs of a fracture. We intubated and have continued valium as a prophylaxis."

"Any aura?" Stafford asked.

"None that I'm aware of," he replied. "Patient was checked about an hour and a half ago and reported no problems. This seemed to come out of nowhere."

Mac jerked her head around to stare out the window as the realization washed over her. "Oh, God," she whispered, loud enough that Reed heard her.

He turned and stared at her. "Colonel, is there something that we should know about?" he asked gently. "Did the Commander say anything …?"

"He was feeling dizzy," she replied slowly, replaying the memory in her mind with a new awareness. "He tried to prop himself up on his elbow, but fell back against the pillow. He just said that he tried to get up too fast. And he's been complaining on and off of a headache. He just seemed to think it was because of the stress of everything and lying around in bed all day. But it wasn't, was it?"

"Colonel, there's no way you could have known there was more to it than that," he tried to assure her, recognizing a note of censure in her voice. "If it weren't for the head injury, it probably would have been no more than that. If the Commander had mentioned those symptoms to me, I probably would have thought the same thing. Taken by themselves, those are fairly innocuous signs. And nobody had any reason to suspect that he'd taken a blow to the back of his head."

There was a short burst of static as the intercom clicked on. "Doctor Reed," Williams said, "we're ready out here."

Reed turned on the other monitor, then waited until Williams had exited the room before turning on the scanner. Mac glanced at the monitor, but didn't understand what she was seeing, so she settled for watching Harm's still form, willing some of her strength to him. _Harm, I wish I could know that you know what I'm thinking,_ she thought. _Just hang on, Flyboy. We've got so much lost time to make up for._

The whirl of the scanner fading into the background, her mind drifted once again to the Appalachians. Harm tenderly washing her wound as best he could, his fingers stained red as he wrapped the gauze around her leg; his arms securely holding her as she feverishly tossed and turned through the night; the coolness of the water as he gently pressed his wet scarf to her sweat and dirt-streaked face. Even after they'd flown to safety, he'd barely left her side during the three days she'd spent in the hospital.

But in all the things they'd been through, he'd always seemed so strong, so invincible. He'd even bounced back after nearly drowning aboard the _Suribachi_. She almost laughed, remembering how he'd seemed the picture of health while she'd come down with a several cold. But within a few days, Australia happened and the state of their health was pushed far down on their list of concerns. What would have happened if things had gone differently back then? It all went back to that. If things had gone differently back in Australia, how many of the events of the last year and a half, up to and including last night's events, would never have happened?

"Colonel?" She was brought out of her reverie by Reed's hand on her shoulder. She jumped slightly, startled. How long had she been standing there, lost in thoughts of what might have been? She tried to figure it out, but couldn't make her mind concentrate enough to determine the time. Her thoughts refused to stray from the man on the other side of the glass fighting for his life. "Doctor Stafford was about to discuss his diagnosis."

"Already?" she asked, taking a shaky breath as she watched the gantry slowly withdraw from the scanner. He was so still. At least she could be thankful that he'd gotten through that without incident. But that was small comfort given the circumstances.

"These things go pretty fast these days," Reed said. He pulled a second chair up and gestured for her to sit down.

She did so, finally unclasping her hands, wiping her sweaty palms on the legs of her pants. "So tell me, Doctor Stafford," she began, addressing her remarks to the man who could give her the answers she sought, "what's wrong with my husband and what can you do for him?"

"Colonel, your husband has what is known as an intracerebral hemorrhage," Stafford said, "or bleeding inside the brain itself. This type of bleeding often does not show itself for hours or even days after the initial injury. In fact, it often takes more than one CT-scan for the bleeding to show up. Fortunately, knowing that it's there allows us to treat it as soon as possible."

"By surgery?" she asked calmly.

"Depends on the size of the hemorrhage," he replied. "In your husband's case, right now, the mass doesn't cover that large an area, but I expect we will have to surgically evacuate eventually. If his condition doesn't change significantly during the flight to Portsmouth, we'll probably run another CT-scan to reevaluate. We will have a surgical team standing by when you arrive, just in case circumstances warrant immediate surgical treatment."

"So now what, we just wait?" Mac demanded, unable to keep the hard edge off her voice. "Can he even sur –" She paused, choking on the word. When she began again, there was a noticeable tremble to her voice. "Can he handle the flight to Portsmouth?"

"Colonel, it's not a matter of whether or not he can handle it," Stafford said, his tone and gaze sympathetic. She looked at Reed and saw the same eyes, the same truth, there. She bit down on her lower lip, barely noticing the metallic sting of blood on her tongue. "We don't have a choice."

-----

ADMIRAL CHEDWIDDEN'S HOME

MCLEAN, VIRGINIA

"It was the first time I'd assigned them as opposing counsel," A.J. related as he passed the plate of garlic bread to Trish, seated at his left. Supper had begun in an almost oppressive silence, so he decided to try to lighten the mood a bit by telling stories of some of Harm's less harrowing exploits at JAG. They had yet to hear from the _Henry_, which A.J. took as a good sign. "It was just a few months after Mac had come to JAG."

Trish smiled and murmured her thanks, taking a small slice of bread for herself before handing the plate off to her husband. "I vaguely recall Harm mentioning the case," she said, her smile the most relaxed and easily given than any other A.J. had seen from her that day. "He seemed a bit …. puzzled, for lack of a better term …. by her attitude."

A.J. laughed. "I would agree with that assessment," he said. "When Chief Connors, the defendant, had requested new counsel and Mac was the only one available, I admit I was curious how they would react. After the initial awkwardness of their first meeting, they were managing to become a formidable team. I wanted …." He trailed off as he caught the look that passed between his three guests. "What is it?" He wondered briefly if he'd made the wrong decision in talking so easily of Harm and his job. Although he hadn't meant to, he'd overheard part of Trish and Frank's earlier conversation.

Three minds shared a single thought. They were all aware of the reason for Harm's reaction when he first met Mac, even if they'd yet to meet Mac for themselves. He'd confided in his grandmother and Sarah in turn, since Harm had not specifically said she shouldn't, had told Trish and Frank. It was Sarah who finally spoke up, deciding to tell enough to satisfy A.J., yet really explaining nothing. "I think Harm was still finding his bearings a bit," she said. "In just a little over a year, he'd graduated law school, joined JAG, had recently lost a …. dear friend …. and was being introduced to his third partner."

A.J. nodded thoughtfully and decided to let that subject drop. Although he suspected there was a lot more to it than Sarah was saying, judging from the unease in the looks that had been exchanged, he decided that it wasn't really his business. "Anyway," he continued, pretending not to notice when they all visibly relaxed, "I needed to see if they could work just as well against each other as together." He chuckled at the memory. "It was interesting, to say the least. Harm has always been good at, um, compartmentalizing. Everything was separate – work, friendships, etc. Mac, on the other hand, took everything so personally. It was almost like setting a match to gasoline."

"Harm was bothered," Frank jumped in, agreeing with A.J.'s assessment. He thought the other man might have made a fair psychologist. "Not so much by the case, but how Mac reacted to it. He thought that what happened between them in the courtroom should have no bearing on their friendship outside it, while he said Mac seemed to take his more …. ruthless tactics in the courtroom as a personal affront."

"Exactly," A.J. confirmed. "At first, they were awkward in court. I sat in on one session and almost didn't recognize the two attorneys I was watching. They seemed so tentative, as if they were unsure how to react to being thrust into these new roles. But once the gloves were off …." He chuckled again, shaking his head. "I supposed I should have expected things to come to a head eventually. They are both equally stubborn and could only push against each other for so long before everything blew. I just never expected how."

"When Harm first told me about firing off that weapon," Sarah said, smiling indulgently as it seemed only a parent or grandparent could. "He sounded almost embarrassed, as if he couldn't believe how far he'd gone."

"That must have been only in retrospect," A.J. laughed, "because when I called him on the carpet, although he said all the right things and made no excuses for his behavior, he seemed completely unrepentant."

"That sounds like Harm," Trish said, smiling. "If Harm has any regrets about anything, he usually keeps them to himself, usually buried under the mantle of indifference to the consequences of his actions. Frank and I saw the same thing when he returned from Laos." Despite her expression, there was an undercurrent to her words which A.J. couldn't help noticing and he remembered their earlier conversation about Mac's wedding. If Harm was bothered by his best friend's wedding, he only knew. He'd never let anyone else see.

A.J. glanced around and noticed that everyone was just about finished eating. "Why don't we take our coffee into the living room?" he suggested, rising to clear his plate from the table. The others followed suit, despite A.J.'s attempts to wave them off.

"It's the least we can do," Sarah said, in a tone that would not permit any argument. "You've been so kind to us, Admiral. You know, Trish isn't the only Naval wife here. I don't recall many commanding officers who would have taken us into his home the way you have. There were so many rank distinctions in my day – officer and enlisted, lower ranked officers and the higher ranked ones. Anyway, I figure that anyone who has put up with our Harm the way you have for over five years deserves either our gratitude or our heartfelt prayers and sympathy."

Everyone laughed at that, each remembering their own trying times dealing with the Rabb stubbornness which Harm had inherited in abundance. A comfortable silence settled over them as they cleared the table, A.J. and Frank loading the dishwasher while Trish and Sarah put the leftovers away. Fifteen minutes later, they were seated around the coffee table in the living room, sipping coffee while A.J. paged through a photo album he pulled off the bookshelf, showing Harm's family some of the more relaxed moments of the JAG 'family'.

The album was open to some photos of the ceremony at JAG where Harm had received his medal from the Romanian king, A.J. telling them of some of the lighter moments while Harm had been tasked with 'babysitting' the princess, when the phone rang. Conversation suddenly stilled, everyone exchanging thinly-disguised wary looks as A.J. answered the phone. "Admiral Chegwidden," he said.

"Admiral, this is Lieutenant Dennis aboard the _Patrick Henry_," said the voice on the other line. "I've got Doctor Reed for you. Let me transfer you."

While the comm officer made the shipboard link to sickbay, A.J. activated the speaker on his phone, smiling as he explained, "I'm being transferred to Doctor Reed."

Trish smiled, murmuring 'Thank God' under her breath as Frank and Sarah each grasped one of her hands. They heard the click signaling the transfer was made, but there was no sound from the other end. "Doctor Reed?" A.J. asked.

It was another moment before someone spoke and they all had to strain to hear the softly spoken "Admiral?" It took another moment before A.J. recognized the shaky voice as Mac's. He could feel everyone's eyes on him and he momentarily thought about disengaging the speakerphone, but what was done was done. He just wasn't sure he could answer the inevitable questions that were to come.

"Mac?" he asked, chalking up the slight tremor he heard in her voice to the strain of the past day. Although he could never remember hearing Mac ever sound like that, she probably had not been through so much in a single twenty-four hour period as she'd just gone through. The realization accounted for the unusual familiarity with which he addressed her. He sensed she needed a friend right now, not a commanding officer. "I assume you're calling with an update on Harm's condition? I should tell you that Harm's parents and grandmother are here with me. You're on speakerphone."

If he'd thought to warn Mac, it was completely lost on her, so wrapped up was she in what she was trying to say. "Admiral, um, Harm …." she began, struggling to put into words what had happened. She gripped the phone tightly in her hand, as if by doing so she was holding onto her tenuous control. Reed put a hand on her shoulder, a question in his eyes, but she shook her head. She could do this. She had to.

A sense of foreboding coming over him, A.J. looked back at everyone and saw varying degrees of apprehension settling over their features. They may not have known Mac as he did, but they knew something was not right, something beyond Mac's seemingly inexplicable presence aboard the _Henry_. "Mac?" he asked again. "Take a deep breath and tell me what happened."

"We're leaving for Portsmouth," she finally said after another long pause. A.J. could tell from the tight, clipped tone in which her words came out that she was fighting to keep a lid on her emotions. "Tonight, as soon as Harm's ready for transport. He …. he …."

They all heard a muffled bang as Mac dropped the phone onto the desk, accompanied by a soft cry and indistinct voices in the background. A.J. glanced over as Sarah closed her eyes and crossed herself, while Frank wrapped an arm around his wife's shoulders, pulling her against him, resting his head against hers. After a moment, another voice came over the line. "Admiral, this is Doctor Reed."

"Doctor, I have Commander Rabb's family here," he said. "What has happened?"

"Commander Rabb had a previously undetected head injury," he said, keeping the explanation as brief as possible even as he realized there was no real way to soften this blow. "Just under an hour ago, symptoms appeared and we ran a CT-scan, which revealed bleeding at the back of his skull. We suspect he struck his head somehow in that location, perhaps being tossed against a piece of wreckage in the water during the storm, which probably caused the bleeding. After consulting by satellite with the head of neurosurgery at Portsmouth, the decision was made to transport the Commander to Portsmouth immediately. He'll be reevaluated upon arrival to determine the course of treatment, but the neurologist, Doctor Stafford, is expecting that surgery will have to be performed."

"Doctor, this is Trish Burnett," Trish jumped in. "Commander Rabb's mother. How could this head injury be undetected for so long? And isn't it dangerous for my son to be subjected to a helicopter ride in his condition?"

Reed paused, studying a spot on the far wall of his office. This was the one part of his job he could never get used to, one skill they could not teach in medical school. "The nature of this particular injury is such that the symptoms may not present for hours, or even days, after the initial injury," he explained. "And right now, it is more dangerous not to move him."

"So you're telling me that my son will die unless he is flown immediately to Portsmouth for surgery?" Trish asked, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the hands of her husband and mother-in-law even tighter.

Realizing that she would appreciate nothing less than an honest answer, he answered bluntly, "That is a very real possibility."

"I see," she replied lifelessly, squeezing her eyes shut against threatening tears. "And you or another doctor will be accompanying him on the flight, I assume?"

"I will," Reed confirmed, "as well as a couple of corpsmen to monitor his condition. He will be well taken care of." That was as much as he dared say. As much as he realized he needed to be honest, there was such a thing as being too honest. Although he suspected that she already knew deep down, simply because she'd been present during her husband's seizure, neither Reed nor Stafford had told Mac just how long the odds were that Harm would even make it to Portsmouth alive. He expected, due to the relatively rapid onset of symptoms given the type of injury, that the hemorrhage would only grow. Even if the time delay in getting him into surgery did not kill him, the helo ride might. He tried never to think of odds, only concentrated on doing the best he could for each patient presented him. But in this case he had to admit to himself that the odds were long indeed, even if Stafford had talked to Mac of reevaluating Harm's condition upon arrival.

"Thank you, Doctor," she said softly, unable to think of anything else to say. She heard it in the doctor's tone – her son was at death's door. _Harmon, look out for our son, _she thought. _I can't lose him too – not like this_. "Can you put Colonel Mackenzie back on?" Three pairs of eyes focused on her, surprised. What could she want to say to Mac that couldn't wait?

"Colonel?" Reed asked, holding the phone out to Mac. When she didn't respond immediately, staring off at some point in the distance, he reached out and gently shook her shoulder. When she looked up at him, he was surprised to see that although her eyes were filled with tears, her cheeks were dry. "Your mother-in-law would like to talk to you." To those listening on the other end, the words were indistinct, the voices muffled.

Mac hesitated a moment before taking the phone, Reed's mention of her mother-in-law bringing home for her what A.J. had said earlier – Harm's family there in his home, listening to her on the speakerphone. Had they heard Reed just refer to Trish as her mother-in-law? _It wasn't supposed to happen like this_, she thought before banishing the musing from her mind. Right now, she could have cared less if Mic and Renee had been there, listening to every word that was said. The only thing that mattered to her, that she could force herself to focus on, was Harm. "Mrs. Burnett?"

"You must love my son very much to fly all the way out to a carrier on the Atlantic Ocean for him," Trish said softly.

Mac didn't even hesitate. "With all my heart," she replied, just as softly, but with a firmness which gave weight to the honesty of her words. If anyone listening was surprised by her declaration, especially when she was supposed to have married someone else that day, none showed it.

"Then take care of him," she said, her quiet pleading bringing fresh tears to Mac's eyes. "Look out for my son."

"I've always tried to," Mac said, trying not to choke on the words. _Perhaps that should be 'I always did prior to two years ago'_, she reprimanded herself. If she'd been looking out for him since then, surely a way could have been found to keep everything from spiraling so far out of control. If only she'd really paid attention to what he'd been saying in Sydney. If only she hadn't taken Mic's ring. If only she hadn't moved it to her left hand. If only …. if only …. if only ….

"Thank you," Trish said, nodding at A.J. to indicate that she was finished.

"Mac, I will notify everyone," he said, hoping that Mac would read between the lines and realize that 'everyone' meant exactly that. Even though he realized she had more than her share to worry about, he needed to prepare her for what was to come. "Then we'll head to Portsmouth ourselves, although I imagine you'll be there long before we will."

If his words penetrated through the fog enveloping Mac's thoughts, she gave no indication of it. "Probably," she said. "Captain Ingles said the ship traveled west during the search and hasn't turned back out to sea, so we're only about forty-five minutes to an hour out by helo. Harm will possibly be in surgery by the time you arrive …." Her voice trailed off as she unknowingly playing with her wedding ring, pushing it around her finger with her thumb.

"Mac …." he began, uncustomarily at a loss for words, for he too had read the bleakness in the doctor's tone, realized that Harm was literally in yet another fight for his life, the second in less than twenty-four hours, realized that the odds were against him. Then again, who would have predicted that he'd be able to survive for nine hours in the chilly May ocean? "We'll see you in Portsmouth."

"Goodbye, Admiral," she said, then they heard a click and silence indicating the line had been disconnected.

A.J. clicked off the phone, pinching the bridge of his nose as he sighed audibly. He quickly composed himself and grabbed his keys off the end table, holding them out. "Why don't you put your luggage back in my SUV while I start calling everyone?" he suggested. "We can leave as soon as I'm finished."

Frank took the offered keys and stood, holding onto Trish's hand as she rose with him. As she entwined her fingers with his, he remembered their flight to Germany ten years earlier and how, save for a couple of trips to the bathroom, her hand had never left his on the long flight from San Diego to Pittsburgh, then Pittsburgh to Frankfurt. Now, just as a decade ago, all they could do was hold onto each other while the doctors tried to save the life of their son.

Sarah got up to follow, then turned back to A.J.. "He's dying, isn't he?" she gave voice to the words they'd all been thinking. If Trish and Frank were disturbed by her vocal bluntness, neither gave any indication. But as A.J. studied each drawn, worried face in turn, he could see that they were all thinking the same thing. They all realized that Reed had offered no assurances that Harm would be okay once he arrived in Portsmouth. _Assuming he does_, he thought. All A.J. could do was nod, finding sympathy for a woman who'd been blessed with such a long life – he pegged her age in the early eighties – yet had been cursed with so much tragedy and heartache and for the parents who had been down this road before.

"Thank you, Admiral," she said, patting his shoulder in a maternal gesture before following Trish and Frank out of the room. A.J. picked up the phone, bracing himself for another round of phone calls, the second in less than twenty-four hours.

-----

USS PATRICK HENRY

"Colonel?" Reed asked, clasping her shoulder. She didn't appear to have heard him, was staring down at her hands in her lap, again twisting her wedding ring her finger. He gently shook her. "Colonel?"

"She asked me to take care of him," she whispered brokenly, leaving Reed unsure if she was even aware of his presence, his hand on her shoulder. "She asked me to take care of him and it's my fault he's lying there …."

"Colonel," he said more firmly as he shook her less gently. He was concerned that she seemed to be blaming herself for a situation beyond her control, but there was nothing he could do about that. Perhaps she could talk to a crisis counselor after they arrived at the hospital or perhaps Father Gilly could be of some help. He'd already requested, and received permission from Captain Ingles, to accompany them on the flight.

Finally, she looked up at him. "Doctor Reed?"

"The Commander is just about ready to be taken up to the flight deck," he told her.

She simply nodded and got up to follow him out of the office. She squared her shoulders, determined to be strong for Harm, but she was unprepared for the site which greeted her in the sickbay's intensive care ward. While a couple of corpsmen completed the last connections to connect Harm to portable monitors which could be carried on the helo, Father Gilly sat on a stool next to the bed, his head bowed in prayer. Her eyes blazed as she advanced on him, demanding, "What are you doing?"

He realized what she was thinking and tried to assure her, "I'm saying a prayer for the sick. With your permission, I could perform the Anointing …."

"I will not let you perform Last Rites," she said angrily. "He's not going to die."

"Sarah," he said gently, holding out his hand to her. She stared at him warily, but didn't move. Sighing, he dropped his hand. She wasn't the first reticent relative he'd ever dealt with on this topic. "Last Rites is a misnomer and only refers to the sacrament when performed at a specific time, such as when one is at the point of departing from his earthly life. The sacrament the Anointing of the Sick is for any seriously ill person and is also appropriate for a person facing a serious operation. The organs of the five external senses are anointed with holy oil and prayers offered to the Lord for the renewal of health. Sometimes that renewal comes in the form of a return of bodily health and sometimes it comes in a renewal of spiritual health as the soul departs …." He trailed off at the look of horror on her face and tried a different tact. "The purpose of the sacrament is to strengthen our hearts against being discouraged in the face of illness. It is a recognition that we accept God's will in …."

"How can this be God's will?" she demanded, walking up to the other side of the bed and taking Harm's left hand in hers. Her gaze fell on the ring on his finger. "We're supposed to have the rest of our lives together. And babies – we've talked about a little boy with my looks and his brains. Or I can see a little girl with her daddy's eyes and smile. She'd have to beat the boys off with a stick when she got older ….The rest of our lives isn't supposed to last only a few hours."

"I wish I had the answers you seek, Sarah," Gilly said. "If I did, then I would be God. Sometimes, I wonder what it would be like, but then I remember the awesome knowledge and responsibility that goes along with it and I am content to be his messenger, to interpret his teachings and to light the path for others to follow."

"I just …." she began, only to be interrupted by the approach of Reed. "Colonel, it's time."

Leaning over, she pressed her lips to his forehead, lingering for a moment as she closed her eyes. She gave his hand a squeeze then stepped back, silently watching as the corpsmen made sure the various equipment and monitors were secure, then lifted the litter on which Harm would be carried onto the helo.

Gilly walked up to her and tentatively put an arm around her shoulders, prepared for her to shrug him off. He was surprised when she leaned her head against his shoulder, choking back a sob. "Come, Sarah," he said, starting to lead her towards the hatch. They took a couple of steps, then she broke free of his grasp, darting to the table beside where Harm had lain. She grabbed the pictures she'd put on display earlier, clutching them to her as she rejoined Gilly.

"May I?" he asked, motioning towards the frames. She nodded and held the photos out to him. He immediately noted the resemblance and gestured towards the older of the two photos. "His father?"

"Lieutenant Harmon Rabb, Senior," she said, her eyes tracing the image of the little boy who would grow into the man she'd fallen in love with. "His call sign was also Hammer. He was shot down Christmas Eve, 1969."

"I heard that story after the tail hook incident," he recalled, "when Harm received his new call sign. You know how scuttlebutt is on ship."

She nodded towards the other picture as they followed Harm's litter down the passageway to the elevator which would take them to the flight deck, normally used to transport munitions. "He was taken to Russia and after ten years in captivity, escaped," she continued. "He spent the last two years of his life on a farm deep in Siberia with a brother and sister, dying when he saved Pitchka from being raped by Russian soldiers. She was pregnant with Sergei when he died. Harm met him nine months ago, the last time we were in Russia."

"I take it from the uniform that he's in the Russian military?" he asked.

"He flies … flew helos for the Russian army," she replied. "He's been in a Chechen POW camp since just before Christmas." She turned to Gilly, her eyes flashing with anger. "When I asked how this could be God's will, I wasn't just asking for myself. Harm's grandmother is eighty-two. Her son was barely two when her husband was shot down during World War II. She didn't know the fate of her only child for almost thirty years after he was shot down. She already carries the burden of worrying over her younger grandson, a prisoner halfway around the world. And Harm's mother and stepfather – they've been down this road, when Harm suffered his ramp strike ten years ago. How much is one family supposed to take?"

"I wish I had the answer for that," he replied, realizing how lame that sounded. She was a lawyer. Her job was to seek answers, uncover the truth. She likely was not one who tolerated being told there were no answers. From what he recalled of past conversations, Harm wasn't either. They were well matched in that.

"So do I," she murmured as they stepped onto the elevator, looking at the pictures one last time before stashing them in one of the travel bags slung over her shoulder. She stepped up to the litter and took Harm's hand in hers, trying to ignore how limp it felt in hers. "Hang on, Harm," she whispered, leaning over so that her mouth was against his ear. The petty officer beside her pretended to be interested in a speck of something on the far wall of the elevator. "You've never given up on anything in your life. Don't you dare start now."

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Continued in Drifting On A Lonely Sea Chapter III – Two Out Of Three Ain't Bad


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